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FKEDEKTCK  THE  GEEAT-MGUT  AFTER  BATTLE  OF  KOLLN' 


GREAT  GENERALS 

I I 

BY 

GREAT  AUTHORS 


HANNIBAL, 

By  Thomas  Arnold 

(247—183  K.  C) 

JULIUS  C^SAR, 

By  H.  G.  Liddell 

(loo — 44  B.  c.) 

OLIVER  CROMWELL  - By  Alphonse  de  Lamartine 
('599—1658.) 

FREDERICK  THE  GREAT, 

By  Thomas  Bauington  Macaulay 
(1712—1786.) 


WM.  L.  ALLISON  COMPANY, 

NEW  YORK, 


(Tli 


,V- 


*, 

’■f. 


4?: 


' ■ ■ "O- 


? 


LIFE  OF  aAJSTNIBAL. 


Twice  in  history  has  there  been  witnessed  the  struggle  of  tile 
ist  individual  genius  against  the  resources  and  institutions  of  a greaf 
nation  ; and  in  both  cases  the  natioc  has  been  victorious.  For  sev 
enteen  years  Hannibal  strove  againot  Romo  ; for  sixteen  years  Na- 
poleon Buonaparte  strove  against  England  : the  efforts  of  the  first 
ended  in  Zama,  those  of  the  second  in  Waterloo. 

Time  it  is,  as  Polybius  has  said,  that  Hannibal  was  supported  by 
the  zealous  exertions  of  Carthage  ; and  the  strength  of  the  opposi- 
tion to  his  policy  has  been  very  possibly  exaggerated  by  the  Roinan 
writers.  But  the  zeal  of  his  country  in  the  contest,  as  Polybius  him- 
self remarks  in  another  place,  was  itself  the  work  of  his  family. 
Never  did  great  men  more  show  themselves  the  living  spirit  of  a na- 
tion than  Hamilcar,  and  Hasdrubal,  and  Hannibal,  during  a period  of 
neaily  fifty  years,  approved  themselves  to  be  to  Carthage.  It  is  not 
‘hen  merely  through  our  ignorance  of  the  internal  state  of  Carthage, 
chat  Hannibal  stands  so  prominent  in  all  our  conceptions  of  the  sec- 
ond Punic  war  ; he  was  really  its  moving  and  directing  power  ; and 
the  energy  of  his  country  was  but  a light  reflected  from  his  own. 
History  therefore  gathers  itself  into  his  single  person  : in  that  vaSi 
tempest,  which,  from  north  and  south,  from  the  west  and  the  east, 
>roke  upon  Italy,  we  see  nothing  but  Hannibal. 

But  if  Hannibal’s  genius  may  be  likened  to  the  Homeric  god,  who 
in  his  hatred  of  the  Trojans  rises  from  the  deep  to  rally  the  fainting 
Greeks,  and  to  lead  them  against  the  enemy  ; so  the  calm  courage 
with  which  Hector  met  his  more  than  human  adversary  in  his  coun- 
try’s cause,  is  no  unworthy  image  of  the  unyielding  magnanimity 
displayed  by  the  aristocracy  of  Rome.  As  Hannibal  utterly  eclipses 
Carthage,  so,  on  the  contrary,  Fabius,  Marcellus,  Claudius  Nero,  even 
Scipio  himself,  are  as  nothing  when  compared  to  the  spirit,  and  wis- 
dom, and  power  of  Rome.  The  senate  which  voted  its  thanks  to  its 
political  enemy  Varro,  after  his  disastrous  defeat,  “ because  he  had 
not  despaired  of  the  Commonwealth,”  and  whi(di  disdained  either  to 
solicit,  or  to  reprove,  or  to  threaten,  or  in  any  way  to  notice  the 
twelve  colonies  which  had  refused  their  accustomed  supplies  of  mea 


i 


305868 


4 


LIFE  OF  HAHSriBAt. 


for  the  army,  is  far  more  to  be  honored  than  the  conqueror  of  Zama. 
This  we  should  the  more  carefully  bear  in  mind,  because  our  ten 
dency  is  to  admire  individual  greatness  far  moie  than  national  : and 
as  no  single  Koman  will  bear  comparison  with  Hannibal,  we  are  apt 
to  murmur  at  the  event  of  the  contest,  and  to  think  that  the  victory 
was  awaided  to  the  least  worthy  of  the  combatants.  On  the  con- 
trary, never  was  the  wisdom  of  God’s  providence  more  mar,^fest  time 
in  the  issue  of  the  struggle  between  Home  and  C'arlLagi . It  was 
clearly  for  the  good  of  mankind  that  Hannibal  should  be  c<  nquered  : 
his  triumph  would  have  stopped  the  progress  of  the  world.  Fov 
great  men  can  only  act  permanently  by  forming  great  nations  , and 
no  one  man,  even  though  it  were  Hannibal  himself,  can  in  one  gen- 
eration effect  S'.ieii  a work.  But  wliere  the  nation  has  been  mere!}- 
enkindled  for  a while  by  a great  man’s  spirit,  the  light  passes  away 
with  him  who  communicated  it ; and  the  nation,  when  he  is  gone,  is 
'ike  a dead  bod}',  to  which  magic  power  had  for  a moment  given  an 
unnatural  life  ; when  the  charm  has  ceased,  the  body  is  cold  and 
stiff  as  before.  He  who  grieves  over  the  battle  of  Zama,  should 
carry  on  his  thoughts  to  a period  thirty  years  later,  when  Hannibal 
must,  in  the  course  of  nature,  have  been  dead,  and  consider  how  the 
isolated  Phoenician  city  of  Carthage  was  fitted  to  receive  and  to  con- 
solidate the  civilization  of  Greece,  or  by  its  laws  and  institutions  to 
bind  together  barbarians  of  every  race  and  language  into  an  organized 
empire,  and  prepare  them  for  becoming,  when  that  empire  was  dis- 
solved, the  free  members  of  the  commonwealth  of  C'b.iistian  Europe. 

The  year  of  Hannibal’s  birth  is  not  mentioned  by  an}'  ancient 
writer,  but  from  the  statements  concerning  his  age  at  t.he  battle  of 
Zama,  it  appears  that  he  must  have  been  born  in  the  very  year  in 
which  his  father,  Hamilcar,  was  first  appoinleU  to  the  command  in 
Sicily.  {’He  was  only  nine  yeais  of  age  when  his  father  took  him  with 
him  into  Spain  ; ani  it  was  on  this  occasion  that  Hitmilcar  nmde  him 
swear  tipon  t^e  altar  eternal  hosti^y  to  ^ure^  The  story  was  told 
by  HanmbalHnmself.'many  years  afterwards,  to  Autiochus,  tmd  1s 
one  of  the  best  attested  in  ancitnl  b'story.*  Child  as  he  then  was 
Hannibal  never  forgot  his  vow,  and  his  whole  life  was  one  con 
tinned  struggle  against  the  power  and  domination  of  Rome.  He  was 
tiarly  trained  in  arm.s  undfr  the  eye  of  his  father,  and  probably 
accompanied  him  on  most  of  his  campaigns  in  Spain,  IVe  find  him 
present  with  him  in  the  battle  in  which  Hamilcar  perish^  ; :md 
though  only  eighteen  j'ears  old  at  this  time,  he  had  already  displayed 
so  much  courage  and  capacity  for  war,  that  he  was  intrusted  by 
Hasdrubal  (the  son-in-law  and  successor  of  Hamilcar)  with  the  chief 
command  of  most  of  the  military  enterprises  planned  by  that  general. 
Of  the  details  of  these  campaigns  we  kucw  nothing  ; but  it  is  clear 


* Polyb.  111.  11 ; Liv.  sii.  1 ; xxxv.  13 ; Cora.  Nep.  Uann. ; Appian.  b , 
yal.  Max.  ix.  3,  ext.  § 3. 


LIFE  OF  HAKXIBAL.  !t 

that  Hannibal  thus  early  gave  proof  of  that  remarkable  power  over 
ilie  minds  of  men,  ^vliich  lie  afterwards  displayed  in  so  eminent  a 
degree,  and  secured  to  liimself  the  devoted  attachment  of  the  army 
under  his  command  The  consequence  was,  that  on  the  assassina- 
tion of  Hasdrubal,  Uie  soldiers  unanimously  proclaimed  their  youth- 
ful leader  commander-iu-chief,  and  tlie  government  of  Carthage  has- 
tened to  ratify  an  appointment  which  they  had  not,  in  fact,  th 
power  to  prevent. 

Hannibal  was  at  this  time  in  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  his  age 
There  can  be  no  doubt  tliat  he  already  looked  forward  to  the  inva- 
sion and  conquest  of  Italy  as  tlie  goal  of  his  ambition  ; l)iif  it  was 
necessary  for  him,  first,  to  complete  the  work  which  had  been  so 
ably  begun  by  his  two  predecessors,  and  to  establish  the  Carthaginian 
power  as  firmly  as  possible  in  Spain,  before  he  made  that  countiy 
the  base  of  his  subsequent  operations.  This  was  the  work  of  two 
campaigns.  Immediately  after  he  had  received  the  command,  he 
turned  his  arms  against  the  Olcades,  a nation  of  the  interior,  who 
were  speedily  coinpelle  l to  submit  by  the  fall  of  their  capital  citjq 
Altlne  i Hannibal  levied  large  sums  of  money  from  them  and  the 
neighboring  tribes,  after  which  he  returned  into  winter  quarters  at 
New  Carthage.  The  next  year  he  penetrated  farther  into  the  coun- 
try, in  order  to  assail  th_  powerful  tribe  of  the  Vaccmans,  and  reduced 
their  two  strong  and  populous  cities  of  Uelmautica  and  Arbocala. 
On  his  return  from  this  expedition,  he  was  involved  in  great  dano-er 
by  a sudden  attack  from  the  Carpetanians,  together  with  the  remain- 
ing forces  of  the  Olcades  and  Vaccseans,  but  by  a dexterous  ma- 
noeuvre he  placed  the  river  Tagus  between  himself  and  the  enemy, 
and  the  barbarian  army  was  cut  to  pieces  in  the  attempt  to  force  their 
passage.  After  these  successes  he  again  returned  to  spend  the  win- 
ter at  New  Carthage.* 

Two  years,  we  have  seen,  had  been  employed  in  expeditions 
against  the  nad.ve  Spaniards  ; the  third  year  was  devoted  to  the  siege 
of  Saguntum.  Hannibal’s  pretext  for  attacking  it  was,  that  the 
Baguutines  had  oppressed  one  of  the  Spanish  tribes  in  alliance  willi 
Carthage  ; but  no  caution  in  the  Saguutiue  government  could  nave 
avoided  a quarrel,  which  their  enemy  was  determined  to  provoke. 
Saguntum,  although  not  a city  of  native  Spaniards,  resisted  as  ob- 
stinately as  if  the  very  air  of  Spain  had  breathed  into  foreign  sel  tiers 
on  its  soil  the  spirit  so  often,  in  many  different  ages,  displayed  by 
She  Spanish  people.  Saguntum  was  defended  like  Numantia  anil 
Gerona  : the  siege  lasted  ei.ght  months  ; and  when  all  hope  was  gone, 
several  of  the  chiefs  kindled  a fire  in  the  market-place,  and  after  hav- 
iug  thrown  in  their  most  precious  effects,  leaped  into  it  themselves, 
and  perished.  Still  the  spoil  found  in  the  place  was  very  considera- 
ble ; there  was  a large  treasure  of  money,  which  Hannibal  kept  for 


• Polyb.  lii.  13-15  ; Liv.  xxi.  5. 


305868 


6 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


his  war  expenses  ; there  were  numerous  captives,  whom  he  distributed 
amongst  his  soldiers  as  their  share  of  the  plunder  ; and  there  was 
much  costly  furniture  from  the  public  and  private  buildings,  which 
he  sent  home  to  decorate  the  temples  and  palaces  of  Carthage. 

It  must  have  been  towards  the  close  of  the  year,  but  apparently  be- 
fore the  consuls  were  returned  from  Illyria,  that  the  news  of  the  fall 
v)f  Saguntum  reached  Rome.  Immediately  ambassadors  were  sent  to 
Carthage  ; M.  Fabius  Buteo,  who  had  been  consul  s ven-and-twenty 
years  before,  C.  Licinius  Varus  and  Q.  Baebius  Tamphilus.  Tlieir 
orders  were  simply  to  demand  that  Hannibal  and  his  principal  offi- 
cers should  be  given  up  for  their  attack  upon  the  allies  of  Rome,  in 
breach  of  the  treaty,  and,  if  this  were  refused,  to  declare  war.  Tht 
Carthaginians  tried  to  discuss  the  previous  question,  whether  the  at- 
tack on  Saguntum  was  a breach  of  the  treaty  ; but  to  this  the  Ro 
mans  would  not  listen.  At  length  ]\I.  Fabius  gathered  up  his  toga, 
as  if  he  were  wrapping  up  something  in  it,  and  holding  it  out  thus 
together,  he  said,  “ Behold,  here  are  peace  and  war;  take  which 
you  choose  !”  The  Carthaginian  suffcte  or  judge  answered,  “Give 
whichever  thou  wilt.’’  Hereupon  Fabius  shook  out  the  folds  of 
his  toga,  saying,  “Then  here  we  give  ymu  war  to  which  sever  1 
members  of  the  council  shouted  in  answer,  “ With  all  our  hearts  we 
welcome  it.”  Thus  the  Roman  ambassador  left  Carthage,  and  re- 
turned straight  to  Rome. 

But  before  the  result  of  the  embassy  could  be  known  in  Spain, 
Hannibal  had  been  making  preparations  for  his  intended  expedition, 
in  a manner  which  showed,  not  only  that  he  was  sure  of  the  support 
of  his  government,  but  that  he  was  able  to  dispose  at  his  pleasure  of 
all  the  military  resources  of  Carthage.  At  his  suggestion  fresh 
troops  from  Africa  were  sent  over  to  Spain  to  secure  it  durin,^  his 
absence,  and  to  be  commanded  by  his  own  brother,  Hasdiubal  ; and 
their  place  was  to  be  supplied  by  other  troops  raised  in  Spain,  so 
that  Africa  wars  to  be  defended  by  Spaniards,  and  Spain  by  Africans, 
the  soldiers  of  each  nation,  when  quartered  amongst  foreigners,  be- 
ing cut  off  from  all  temptation  or  opportunity  to  revolt.  So  com- 
plctely  w'as  he  allowed  to  direct  every  military  measure,  that  he  is 
said  to  have  sent  Spanish  and  Numidian  troops  to  garrison  Carthage 
itself  ; m other  wmrds,  this  w'as  a part  of  his  general  plan,  and  wae 
ttdopted  accordingly  by  the  government.  ^Meanwhile,  he  had  sent 
ambassadors  into  Gaul,  and  even  across  the  Alps,  to  the  Gauls  whe 
had  so  lately  been  at  war  with  the  Remans,  both  to  obtain  informa- 
tion as  to  the  country  through  which  his  march  lay,  and  to  secure  the 
assistance  and  guidance  of  the  Gauls  in  his  passage  of  the  Alps,  and 
their  co-operation  in  arms  when  he  should  arrive  in  Italy.  His  Span- 
ish troops  he  had  dismissed  to  their  several  homes,  at  the  end  of  the 
last  campaign,  that  they  might  cair}'  their  spoils  with  them,  and  tell 
of  their  exploits  to  their  countrjTircn,  and  enjoy,  during  the  winter, 
that  almost  listless  ease  wffiich  is  the  barbarian’s  relief  from  war  and 


LIFE  OF  nAXHIBAL. 


1 


plunder.  At  length  he  received  the  news  of  the  Roman  embassy  to 
Carthage,  and  the  actual  cleclarati'  n of  war  ; his  officers  also  had  re- 
turned from  Cisalpine  Gaul.  “ Tlie  natural  difficulties  of  the  passage 
of  the  Alps  were  great,”  tliey  said,  ” hut  by  no  means  insuperable  ; 
while  the  disposition  of  the  Gauls  was  most  frieu-dlj',  and  they  vv^ere 
eagerly  expecting  his  arrival.”  Then  Hannibal  called  his  soldiers 
together,  and  told  them  openly  that  he  was  going  to  lead  them  into 
Italy.  “ The  Romans,”  he  said,  “ have  demanded  that  I and  my 
principal  officers  should  be  delivered  up  to  them  as  malefactors.  Sol- 
diers, will  you  suffer  such  an  indignity  ? The  Gar.ls  are  holding  out 
their  arms  to  us,  inviting  us  to  come  to  them,  and  to  assist  them  in 
revenging  their  manifold  injuries.  And  the  countiy  which  we  shall 
invade,  so  ricL  in  corn  and  wine  and  oil,  so  full  of  flocks  and  herds, 
so  covered  with  flourishing  cities,  wid  be  the  richest  prize  that  could 
be  offered  by  the  gods  to  reward  your  valor.”  One  common  shout 
from  the  soldiets  assured  him  of  their  readiness  to  follow  him.  He 
thanked  them,  fixed  the  day  on  which  they  were  to  be  ready  to 
march,  and  then  dismissed  them. 

In  this  interval,  and  now  on  the  very  eve  of  commencing  his  ap- 
pointed work,  to  which  for  eighteen  years  he  had  been  solemnly  de- 
voted, and  to  which  he  had  so  long  been  looking  forward  with  al- 
most sickening  hope,  he  left  the  headquarters  of  his  army  to  visit 
Gades,  and  there,  in  the  temple  of  the  supreme  god  of  Tjwe,  and  all 
the  colonies  of  Tyre,  to  offer  his  prayers  and  vows  for  the  success  of 
his  enterprise.  Ho  was  attended  only  by  those  immediatelj'  attached 
to  his  person  ; and  amongst  these  was  a Sicilian  Greek,  Silcnus,  who 
followed  him  throughout  his  Italian  expedition,  and  lived  at  his 
table.  When  the  sacrifice  was  over,  Hannibal  returned  to  his  army  at 
New  Carthage  ; and  everything  being  leady,  and  the  season  suffi- 
ciently advanced,  for  it  was  now  late  in  jMajq  he  set  out  on  his  march 
for  the  Iberus. 

And  here  the  fulness  of  his  mind,  and  his  strong  sense  of  being 
the  devoted  instrument  of  his  countiy ’s  gods  to  destroy  their  enemies, 
haunted  him  by  night  as  they  possessed  him  by  da}'.  In  his  sleep, 
so  he  told  Silenas,  he  fancied  that  the  supreme  god  of  his  fathers 
had  called  him  into  the  presence  of  all  the  gods  of  Carthage,  who 
were  sitting  on  their  thrones  in  council.  There  he  received  a solemn 
charge  to  invade  Italj^ ; and  one  of  the  heavenly  council  went  with 
him  and  with  his  army,  to  guide  him  on  his  way.  He  went  on,  and 
his  divine  guide  commanded  him,  “See  that  thou  look  not  behind 
thee.”  But  after  a while,  impatient  of  the  restraint,  he  turned  to 
look  back  ; and  there  he  beheld  a huge  and  monstrous  form,  thick 
set  all  over  with  serpents  ; wherever  it  moved  orchards  and  woods 
and  houses  fell  crasliing  before  it.  He  asked  his  guide  in  wonder, 
what  that  monster  form  was  ? The  god  answered,  “ Thou  seest  the 
desolation  of  Italy  ; go  on  thy  way,  straight  forward,  and  cast  no 
look  behind.”  Thus,  with  no  divided  heart,  and  with  an  entire  ree. 


^ LIFE  OF  HAFTINIBAL. 

/gnation  of  all  personal  and  domestic  enjoyments  forever.  Hannibal 
vent  forth  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  to  do  the  work  of  his  coun- 
liy’s  gods,  and  to  redeem  his  earlj"  vow. 

'['he  consuls  at  Rome  came  into  office  at  this  period  on  the  15lh  of 
ilarch  ; it  was  possible  therefore  for  a consular  army  to  arrive  cu  the 
scene  of  action  in  time  to  dispute  witli  Hannibal  not  onl}^  the  passage 
of  the  Rhone,  but  that  of  the  Pyrenees.  But  the  Romans  exagger- 
ated the  difficulties  of  his  march,  and  seem  to  have  expected  that 
the  resistance  of  the  Spanish  tribes  between  the  Iberus  and  the  Pyr- 
enees, and  of  the  Gauls  between  the  Pyrenees  and  the  Rhone,  would 
so  delay  him  that  he  would  not  reach  the  Rhone  till  the  end  of  the 
season.  They  therefore  made  their  preparations  leisurdy. 

Of  the  consuls  for  this  year,  the  year  of  Rome  536,  and  318  before 
the  Christian  era,  one  was  P.  Cornelius  Scipij,  the  s of  L.  Scipio, 
who  had  been  consul  in  the  sixth  j'ear  tf  the  first  Punic  war.  and 
the  grandson  of  L.  Scipio  Barbatus,  whose  services  in  the  third  Sam- 
uite  war  are  recorded  in  his  famous  epitaph.  The  other  was  Ti 
Sempronius  Longus,  probably,  but  not  certainly,  th  son  of  that  C. 
Sempronius  Blaesus  who  had  been  consul  in  the  y ar  501.  The 
consuls’  provinces  were  to  be  Spain  and  Sicily  ; Scipio,  with  two 
Roman  legions,  and  15,600  of  the  Ralia'  alii: ~,  and  with  a fleet  of 
sixty  quinqueremes,  was  to  command  in  Spain  ; Sempronius,  with  a 
somewhat  larger  army,  and  a fleet  of  160  quin  ^ueremes,  was  to  cross 
over  to  Lilybseum,  and  from  thence,  if  cir'  umstances  favored,  to 
make  a descent  on  Africa.  A third  arm}^  consisting  also  of  two  Ro- 
man legions,  and  11,000  of  the  allies,  was  stationed  in  Cisalpine  Gaul, 
under  the  prtetor  L.  3Ianlius  Vulso.  Tlr  Romans  suspected  that 
the  Gauls  would  rise  in  arms  ere  long  ; and  they  hastened  to  send 
out  the  colonists  of  two  colonies,  which  had  been  resolved  on  before, 
but  not  actually  founded,  to  occupy  the  important  stations  of  Pla- 
centia and  Cremona  on  the  opposite  banks  of  the  Po.  The  colonists 
sent  to  each  of  these  places  were  no  fewer  than  six  thousand  ; and 
they  received  notice  to  be  at  their  colonies  in  thirtj^  days.  Three 
commissioners,  one  of  them,  C.  Lutatius  Calulus,  being  of  consular 
rank,  were  sent  out,  as  usual,  to  supermtend  the  allotmeni  of  lands 
to  the  settlers ; and  these  12,000  men,  together  with  the  praetor’s 
army,  were  supposed  to  be  capable  of  keeping  the  Gauls  quiet. 

It  is  a curious  fact,  that  the  danger  on  the  side  of  Spain  was  con- 
sidered to  be  so  much  the  least  urgent,  that  Scipio’s  army  was  raised 
the  last,  after  those  of  his  colleague  and  of  the  praetor  L.  JIanlius. 
Indeed  Scipio  was  still  at  Rome, 'when  tidings  came  that  the  Boians 
and  Insubrians  had  revolted,  had  dispersed  the  new  settlers  at  Pla- 
centia and  Cremona,  and  driven  them  to  take  refuge  at  Mutina,  had 
treacherously  seized  the  three  commissioners  a#-  a conference,  and 
had  defeated  the  praetor  L.  Manlius,  and  obliged  him  also  to  take 
shelter  in  one  of  the  towns  of  Cisalpine  Gaul,  where  they  were 
blockading  him.  One  of  Scipio’s  legions,  with  five  thousand  of  the 


LIFE  OF  HANFriBAL. 


9 


allies,  was  immediately  sent  off  into  Gaul  under  another  praetor,  C. 
Antilius  Serranus  ; and  Scipio  waited  til!  his  own  army  should  again 
be  completed  new  levies.  Thus  he  cannot  have  left  Rome  till  late 
in  the  summer  ; and  when  he  arrived  with  his  fleet  and  army  at  the 
mouth  of  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Rhone,  he  found  that  Hannibal 
had  crossed  the  Pyrenees  ; but  he  still  hoped  to  impede  his  passage 
of  the  river. 

Hanuibal  meanwhile,  having  set  out  from  Kew  Carthage  with  an 
army  of  90,000  foot  and  12,000  horse,  crossed  the  Iberus  ; and  from 
thenceforward  the  hostile  operations  of  his  march  began.  He  might 
probably  have  marched  through  the  country  between  the  Iberus  and 
the  Pyrenees,  had  that  been  his  sole  object,  as  easily  as  he  made  his 
way  from  the  Pyrenees  to  the  Rhone  ; a few  presents  and  civilities 
would  easily  have  induced  the  Spanish  chiefs  to  allow  him  a free 
passage.  But  some  of  the  tribes  northward  of  the  Iberus  were 
friendly  to  Rome  : on  the  coast  were  the  Greek  cities  of  Rhoda  and 
Emporiae,  Massaliot  colonies,  and  thus  attached  to  the  Romans  as 
the  old  allies  of  their  mother  city  : if  this  part  of  Spain  were  left  uu- 
conquered,  the  Romans  would  immediately  make  use  of  it  as  the 
base  of  their  operations,  and  proceed  from  tlieuce  to  attack  the  wnole 
Carthaginian  dominion.  Accordingly,  Hannibal  employed  his  army 
in  subduing  the  whole  country,  which  he  effected  with  no  great  loss 
of  time,  but  at  a heavy  expense  of  men,  as  he  was  obliged  to  carry 
the  enemy’s  strongholds  by  assault,  rather  than  incur  the  delay  of 
besieging  them.  He  left  Hanno  with  eleven  thousand  men  to  retain 
possession  of  the  newly-conquered  country  ; and  he  further  dimin- 
ished his  army  by  sending  home  as  many  more  of  his  Spanish  sol- 
diers, probably  those  who  had  most  distinguished  themselves,  as  an 
earnest  to  the  rest,  that  they  too,  if  they  did  their  duty  well,  might 
expect  a similar  release,  and  might  look  forward  to  return  ere  long 
to  their  homes,  full  of  spoil  and  glory.  These  detachments,  together 
with  the  heavy  loss  sustained  in  the  field,  reduced  the  force  with 
which  Hannibal  entered  Gaul  to  no  more  than  50,000  foot  and  9000 
horse. 

Prom  the  Pyrenees  to  the  Rhone  his  progress  was  easy.  Here  he 
had  no  wish  to  make  regular  conquests  ; and  presents  to  the  chiefs 
mostly  succeeded  in  conciliating  their  friendship,  so  that  he  was 
allowed  to  pass  freely.  But  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhone,  the  in- 
fluence of  tlie  Massaliots  with  the  Gaulish  tribes  had  disposed  them 
to  resist  the  invader  ; and  the  passage  of  the  Rhone  was  not  to  be 
effected  without  a contest. 

Scipio  by  this  time  had  landed  his  army  near  the  eastern  mouth  of 
the  Rhone  ; and  his  information  of  Hannibal’s  movements  was  vague 
and  imperfect.  His  men  had  suffered  from  sea-sickness  on  their 
voyage  from  Pisa  to  the  Rhone  ; and  he  wished  to  give  them  a short 
time  to  recover  their  strength  and  spirits,  before  he  led  them  against 
the  enemy.  He  still  felt  confi  l I\at  Hannibal’s  advance  from  the 


10 


LIFE  OF  HAFTXIBAL. 

Pyrenees  must  be  slow,  supposing  that  be  would  be  obliged  to  fight 
bis  way  ; so  that  he  never  doubted  that  he  should  have  ample  time  to 
oppose"  his  piassage  of  the  Rhone.  Meanwhile  he  sent  out  300  horse, 
with  some  Gauls  who  were  in  the  service  of  the  Massaliots,  ordering 
them  to  ascend  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhone,  and  discover,  if  possible 
the  situation  of  the  enemy.  He  seems  to  have  been  unwilling  to 
place  the  river  on  his  rear,  and  therefore  never  to  have  thought  of 
conduc  ting  his  operations  on  the  right  bank,  or  even  of  sending  out 
reconnoitring  parties  in  this  direction. 

The  resolution  which  Scipio  formed  a few  days  afterwards,  of 
sending  his  army  to  Spain,  when  he  himself  returned  to  Italy,  was 
de.serving  of  such  high  praise,  that  we  must  hesitate  to  accuse  him  of 
over-caution  or  needless  delay  at  this  critical  moment.  Yet  he  was 
sitting  idle  at  the  mouth  of  the  Rhone,  while  the  Gauls  were  vainlj 
endeavoring  to  oppose  Hannibal’s  passage  of  the  river.  We  must 
understand  that  Hannibal  kept  his  army  as  far  awaj’  from  the  sea  as 
possible  in  order  to  conceal  his  movements  from  the  Romans  ; there- 
fore he  came  upon  the  Rhone,  not  on  the  line  of  the  later  Roman  road 
from  Spain  to  Ita /,  which  crossed  the  river  at  Tarasco,  between 
Avignon  and  Arles,  but  at  a point  much  higher  up,  above  its  confiu- 
ence  with  the  Durance,  and  nearly  half  way,  if  we  can  trust  P0I3’- 
hius’s  reckoning,  from  the  sea  to  its  confluence  with  the  Iserc.  Here 
lie  obtained  from  the  natives  on  the  right  bank,  bj'  paying  a fixed 
price,  all  their  boats  and  vessels  of  every  description  with  which  thej' 
were  accustomed  to  traffic  down  the  river  : they  allowed  him  also  to 
cut  timber  for  the  construction  of  others  ; and  thus  in  two  days  he 
was  provided  with  the  means  of  transporting  his  anny.  But  finding 
that  the  Gauls  were  assembled  on  the  eastern  bank  to  oppose  his  pas- 
sage, he  sent  oil  a detachment  of  his  army  by  night  with  native  guides, 
to  ascend  the  right  bank,  for  about  twm-and-twenty  miles,  and  there 
to  cro.ss  as  they  could,  where  there  was  no  enemy  to  stop  them. 
The  woods,  which  then  lined  the  river,  supplied  this  detachment  with 
the  means  of  constructing  barks  and  rafts  enough  for  the  passage  ; 
they  took  advantage  of  one  of  the  many  islands  in  this  part  of  the 
Rhone,  to  cross  where  the  stream  was  divided  ; and  thus  they  all 
reached  the  left  bank  in  safety.  There  they  took  up  a strong  posi- 
tion,  probably  one  of  those  strange  masses  of  rock  which  ri.se  here 
and  there  with  steep  cliffy  sides  like  islands  out  of  the  vast  plain,  and 
rested  for  four-aml-twentj'  hours  after  their  exertions  in  the  march 
and  the  passage  of  the  river. 

Hannibal  allowed  eight-and-forty  hours  to  pass  from  the  time  when 
ihe  detachment  left  his  camp  ; and  then,  on  the  morning  of  the  fiith 
day  after  his  arrival  on  the  Rhone,  he  made  his  preparations  for  the 
passage  of  his  main  arm}'.  The  mighty  stream  of  the  river,  fed  by 
the  snoAVS  of  the  high  Alps,  is  swellwi  rather  than  diminished  by  the 
heats  of  summer  ; so  that,  although  the  season  was  that  when  tlie 
southern  rivers  are  generally  at  their  lowest,  it  was  rolling  the  vaat 


11 


IIFE  OF  HANKIBAIi. 

mass  of  its  waters  along  witli  a startling  fulness  and  rapidity.  The 
heaviest  vessels  were  therefore  placed  on  the  left,  liighest  up  the 
stream,  to  form  something  of  a break  water  for  the  smaller  craft  cross- 
ing below  ; the  smalt  boats  held  the  flower  of  the  light-armed  foot, 
while  the  cavalry  were  in  the  larger  vessels  ; most  of  the  horses  being 
towed  astern  swimming,  and  a single  soldier  holding  three  or  four 
together  by  their  bridles.  Everything  was  ready,  and  the  Gauls  on 
the  opposite  side  had  poured  out  of  their  camp,  and  lined  the  bank  in 
scattered  groups  at  the  most  accessible  points,  tliinking  that  their  task 
of  stopping  the  enemy’s  landing  would  be  easily  accomplislied.  At 
length  Hannibal’s  eye  observed  a column  of  smoke  rising  on  the  far- 
ther shore,  above  or  on  the  right  of  the  barbarians.  This  was  the 
concerted  signal  which  assured  him  of  the  arrival  of  his  detachment  ; 
and  he  instantly  ordered  his  men  to  embark,  and  to  push  across  with 
all  possible  speed.  They  pulled  vigorously  against  the  rapid  stream, 
cheering  each  other  to  the  work  ; while  behind  them  were  their 
friends,  cheering  them  also  from  the  bank  ; and  before  them  were  the 
Gauls,  singing  their  war-songs,  and  calling  them  to  come  on  with 
tones  and  gestures  of  defiance.  But  on  a sudden  a mass  of  fire  was 
seen  on  the  rear  of  the  barbarians  ; the  Gauls  on  the  bank  looked  be- 
hind, and  began  to  turn  away  from  the  river  ; and  presently  the 
bright  arms  and  white  linen  coats  of  the  African  and  Spanish  soldiers 
appeared  above  the  bank,  breaking  in  upon  the  disorderly  line  of  the 
Gauls.  Hannibal  himself,  who  was  with  the  party-ciossing  the  river, 
leaped  on  shore  amongst  the  first,  and,  forming  his  men  as  fast  as 
they  landed,  led  them  instantly  to  the  charge.  But  the  Gauls,  con- 
fused and  bewildered,  made  little  resistance  ; they  fled  in  utter  rout ; 
whilst  Hannibal,  not  losing  a moment,  sent  back  his  vessels  and  boats 
for  a fresh  detachment  of  his  army  ; and  before  night  his  whole 
force,  with  the  exception  of  his  elephants,  was  safely  established  on 
tne  eastern  side  of  the  Rhone. 

As  the  river  was  no  longer  between  him  and  the  enemy,  Hannibal 
early  on  the  next  morning  sent  out  a party  of  Numidiau  cavalry  to 
discover  the  position  and  number  of  Scipio’s  forces,  and  then  called 
his  army  together,  to  see  and  hear  the  communications  of  some  chiefs 
of  the  Cisalpine  Gauls,  who  were  just  arrived  from  the  other  side  of 
the  Alps.  Their  words  were  exijiaiued  to  the  Africans  and  Spaniards 
in  the  army  by  interpreters  ; but  the  very  sight  of  tlie  chiefs  was  it- 
self an  encouragement  ; for  it  told  the  soldiers  that  the  communica- 
tion with  Cisalpine  Gaul  was  not  impracticable,  and  that  the  Gauls 
had  undertaken  so  long  a journey  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  the 
aid  of  the  Carthaginian  army  against  their  old  enemies,  the  Romans. 
Besides,  the  interpreters  explained  to  the  soldiers  that  the  chiefs  un- 
dertook to  guide  them  into  Italy  by  a short  and  safe  route,  on  which 
they  would  be  able  to  find  provisions  ; and  spoke  strongly  of  the 
great  extent  and  richness  of  Italy,  when  they  did  arrive  there,  and 
How  zealously  the  Gauls  would  aid  them.  Hannibal  then  came  for- 


12 


LIFE  OF  HAXKIBAL. 


v;aiil  himself  and  addressed  his  aimy  : their  work,  he  said,  was  more 
tlian  accomplished  by  the  passage  of  (iie  Rhone  ; their  own  eyes  and 
ears  had  witnessed  the  zeal  of  their  Gaulish  a'lies  in  their  cause  ; for 
the  rest,  their  business  was  to  do  thtir  duty,  and  obey  his  orders  im- 
plicitly, leaving  everything  else  to  him.  The  cheers  and  shouts  of 
the  soldiers  again  satisfied  him  how  fully  he  might  depend  upon 
them  ; and  he  then  addressed  his  prayers  and  vows  to  the  gods  of  Car- 
hage,  imploring  them  to  watch  over  the  army,  and  to  prosper  its 
work  to  the  end,  as  they  had  prospered  its  beginning.  The  soldiers 
■vere  now  dismissed,  with  orders  to  prepare  for  their  march  on  the 
morrow. 

Scarcely  was  the  assembly  broken  up,  when  some  of  the  Xumidians 
who  had  been  sent  out  in  the  morning  were  seen  riding  fur  iheir  lives 
to  the  camp,  manifestly  in  flight  from  a victorious  enemy.  Xot  half 
of  the  original  party  returned  ; for  they  had  fallen  in  with  Scipio’s 
detachment  of  Roman  and  Gaulish  horse,  and  after  an  obstinate  con- 
tlict  had  been  completely  beaten.  Presently  after,  the  Roman  horse- 
men appeared  in  pursuit  ; but  when  they  observed  the  Carthaginian 
camp,  they  wheeled  and  rode  off,  to  carry  back  word  to  their  gen- 
eral. Then  at  last  Scipio  put  his  armj^  in  motion,  and  siscended  the 
left  bank  of  the  river  to  find  and  engage  the  enemj'.  But  when  he 
ariived  at  the  spot  where  his  cavalrj'  had  seen  the  Carthaginian 
camp,  he  found  it  deserted,  and  was  told  that  Hannibal  had  been  gone 
three  days,  having  marched  northwards,  ascending  the  left  bank  of 
the  river.  To  follow'  him  seemed  desperate  : it  was  plunging  into  a 
country  wdioll}'  unknowm  to  the  Romans,  where  they  had  neither 
allies  nor  guides,  nor  resources  of  an}'  kind  ; and  where  the  natives, 
over  and  above  the  common  jealousy  felt  by  all  barbarians  towards  a 
foreign  enemy,  wmre  likely,  as  Gauls,  to  regard  the  Romans  with 
peculiar  hostility.  But  if  Hannibal  could  not  be  follow  ed  now,  he 
might  easily  be  met  on  his  first  arrival  in  Ital}' ; from  the  mouth  of 
the  Rhone  to  Pisa  was  the  chord  of  a circle,  while  Hannibal  was 
going  to  make  a long  circuit ; and  the  Romans  had  an  army  already 
in  Cisalpine  Gaul  ; while  the  enemy  would  reach  the  scene  of  action 
e.xhau.sted  with  the  fatigues  and  privations  of  his  march  across  the 
\lps.  Accordingly  Scipio  descended  the  Rhone  again,  embarked  his 
inny  and  sent  it  on  to  Spain  under  the  command  of  his  brother 

nanis  Scipio,  as  his  lieutenant  ; while  he  himself  in  his  own  ship 
Jailed  for  Pisa,  and  immediately  crossed  the  Apennines  to  take  the 
command  of  the  forces  of  the  two  pradors,  ^Manlius  and  Atilius,  who. 
as  we  have  seen,  had  an  army  of  about  So. 000  men,  over  and  above 
the  colonists  of  Placentia  and  Cremona,  still  disposable  in  Cisalpine 
Gaul. 

This  resolution  of  Scipio  to  send  his  own  army  on  to  Spain,  and  to 
meet  Hannibal  wdth  the  army  of  the  two  prietors,  appears  to  show 
that  he  possessed  the  highest  qualities  of  a general,  which  involve  the 
wisdom  of  a statesman  no  less  than  of  a soldier.  As  a mere  roilitar} 


LIFE  OF  HAXNIBAL. 


13 


c[uestion,  his  calculation,  though  baffled  by  the  event,  was  sound 
but  if  we  view  it  in  a higher  light,  the  importance  to  the  Romans  ol 
retaining  their  hold  on  Spain  would  have  justified  a far  greatei 
hazard  ; for  if  the  Carthaginians  were  suffered  to  consolidate  theii 
dominion  in  Spain,  and  to  avail  themselves  of  its  immense  resources, 
not  in  money  only,  but  in  men,  the  hardiest  and  steadiest  of  bar. 
barians,  and,  under  the  training  of  such  generals  as  Hannibal  and 
his  brother,  equal  to  the  best  soldiers  in  the  world,  the  Romans  would 
hardly  have  been  able  to  maintain  the  contest.  Had  not  P.  Scipio 
then  dispatched  his  army  to  Spain  at  this  critical  moment,  instead  ol 
carrying  it  home  to  Italy,  his  son  in  all  probability  would  never  have 
won  the  battle  of  Zama. 

Meanwhile  Hannibal,  on  the  day  after  the  skirmish  with  Scipio’s 
horse,  had  sent  forward  his  infantry,  keeping  the  cavalry  to  cover  hia 
operations,  as  he  still  expected  the  Romans  to  pursue  him  ; whilst  ho 
himself  waited  to  superintend  the  passage  of  the  elephants.  These 
were  thirty-seven  in  number  ; and  their  dread  of  the  water  made 
their  transport  a very  difficult  operation.  It  was  effected  by  fasten- 
ing to  the  bank  large  rafts  of  21)0  feet  in  length,  covered  carefully 
with  earth  : to  the  end  of  these,  smaller  rafts  were  attached,  covered 
with  earth  in  the  same  manner,  and  with  towing  lines  extended  to  a 
number  of  the  largest  barks,  which  were  to  tow  them  over  the 
stream.  The  elephants,  two  females  leading  the  way%  were  brought 
upon  the  rafts  by  their  drivers  without  difficulty^ ; and  as  soon  as  they 
came  upon  the  smaller  rafts,  these  were  cut  loose  at  once  from  the 
larger,  and  towed  out  into  the  middle  of  the  river.  Some  of  the  ele- 
phants in  their  terror  leaped  overboard,  and  drowned  their  drivers  ; 
but  they  themselves,  it  is  said,  held  their  huge  trunks  above  water, 
and  struggled  to  the  shore  ; .so  that  the  whole  thirty^-seven  were 
landed  in  safety.  Then  Hannibal  called  in  his  cavalry,  and  covering 
his  march  with  tliem  and  with  the  elephants,  set  forward  up  the  left 
bank  of  the  Rhone  to  overtake  the  infantry. 

In  four  day's  they'  reached  the  sp  rt  where  the  Isere,  coming  down 
from  the  main  Alps,  brings  to  the  Rhone  a stream  hardly  less  full  or 
mighty  than  his  own.  In  the  plains  above  the  confluence  two  Gaul- 
ish brothers  were  contending  which  should  be  chief  of  their  tribe  ; 
and  the  elder  called  in  the  stranger  general  to  support  his  cause. 
Hannibal  readily'  complied,  established  him  firmly' on  the  throne,  and 
■'eceived  important  aid  from  him  in  return.  He  supplied  the  Cartha 
ginian  army  plentifully  with  provisions,  furnished  them  with  new 
arms,  gave  them  new  clothing,  especially  shoes,  which  were  found 
very  useful  in  the  subsequent  march,  and  accompanied  them  to  the 
first  entrance  on  the  mountain  country',  to  secure  them  from  attacks 
on  the  part  of  his  countrymen. 

The  attentive  reader,  who  is  acquainted  with  the  geography  of  the 
Alps  and  their  neighborhood,  will  perceive  that  this  account  of  Han- 
nihal's  march  is  vague.  It  does  not  appear  whether  the  Gartha 


14 


LIFE  OF  HAXXIBAL. 


ginians  ascended  the  left  bank  of  the  Isere  or  the  right  bank  , or 
whether  they  continued  to  ascend  the  Rhone  for  a time,  and  leaving 
it  only  so  far  as  to  avoid  the  great  angle  ■which  it  makes  at  Lyons,  re- 
joined it  again  just  before  they  entered  the  mountain  country",  a little 
to  the  left  of  the  present  road  from  Lyons  to  Chamberri.  But  these 
uncertainties  cannot  now  be  removed,  because  Pol5’hius  neither  pos- 
sessed a sufficient  knowledge  of  the  bearings  of  the  country,  nor 
Sufficient  liveliness  as  a painter,  to  describe  the  line  of  the  march  so 
as  to  be  clearly  recognized.  I believe,  ho'wever,  that  Hannibal 
crossed  the  Isere,  and  continued  to  ascend  the  Rhone  ; and  that  after- 
wards, striking  off  to  the  right  across  the  plains  of  Dauphine,  he 
reached  what  Polybius  calls  the  lirst  ascent  of  the  Alps,  at  the  north- 
ern extremity  of  that  ridge  of  limestone  mountains,  which,  rising  ab- 
ruptly from  the  plain  to  the  height  of  4000  or  5000  feet,  and  tilling  up 
the  whole  space  between  the  Rhone  at  Belley  and  the  Isere  below 
Grenoble,  first  introduces  the  traveller  coming  from  Lyons  to  the 
remarkable  features  of  Alpine  scenery. 

At  the  end  of  the  lowland  countiy,  the  Gaulish  chief,  who  had  ac- 
companied Hannibal  thus  far,  took  leave  of  him  : his  influence  prob- 
ably did  not  extend  to  the  Alpine  valleys  ; and  the  mountaineers,  far 
from  respecting  his  safe  conduct,  might  be  in  the  habit  of  making 
plundering  inroads  on  his  own  territorj’.  Here,  then,  Hannibal  was 
left  to  himself  ; and  he  found  that  the  natives  -were  prepared  to  beset 
his  passage.  They  occupied  all  such  points  as  commanded  the  road  ; 
which,  as  usual,  was  a sort  of  terrace  cut  in  the  mountain  side,  over- 
hanging the  valley  -ndiereb}"  it  penetrated  to  the  central  ridge.  But 
as  the  mountain  line  is  of  no  great  breadth  here,  the  natives  guarded 
the  defile  only  b}"  da}%  and  withdrew  when  night  came  on  to  their 
own  homes,  in  a town  or  village  among  the  mountains,  and  lying  in 
the  valley  behind  them.  Hannibal,  having  learned  this  from  some  of 
his  Gaulish  guides  whom  he  sent  among  them,  encamped  in  their 
sight  just  below  the  entrance  of  the  defile  ; and  as  soon  as  it  was 
dusk,  he  set  out  with  a detachment  of  light  troops,  made  his  way 
through  the  pass,  and  occupied  the  positions  which  the  barbarians, 
after  their  usual  practice,  had  abandoned  at  the  approach  of  night. 

Day  dawned  ; the  main  army  broke  up  from  its  camp,  and  began 
to  enter  the  defile  ; while  the  natives,  finding  their  positions  occu- 
pied by  the  enemy,  at  first  looked  on  quietly,  and  offered  no  disturb- 
iince  to  the  march.  But  when  thej'  saw  the  long  narrow  line  of  the 
Carthaginian  army  winding  along  the  steep  mountain-side,  and  the 
cavalry  and  baggage  cattle  struggling  at  every  step  with  the  difflcul 
ties  of  the  road,  the  *emptation  to  plunder  was  too  strong  to  be  re- 
sisted ; and  from  many  points  of  the  mountain,  above  the  road,  they 
rushed  down  upon  the  Carthaginians.  The  confusion  was  terrible  ; 
for  the  road  or  track  was  so  narrow,  that  the  least  crowd  or  disorder 
pushed  the  heavily  loaded  baggage  cattle  down  the  steep  below  ; and 
the  horses,  wounded  by  the  barbarians’  missiles,  and  nlunging  about 


LIFE  OF  HAXXIBAL. 


15 


wildly  in  their  pain  and  terror,  increased  the  miscliief.  At  last  Han- 
nibal was  obliged  to  charge  down  from  his  position,  which  com- 
manded the  whole  scene  of  confusion,  and  to  drive  the  barbarians 
otf.  This  he  effected  : yet  Ihe  conflict  of  so  many  men  on  the  narrow 
road  made  the  disorder  worse  fur  a time  ; and  he  unavoidably  occa- 
sioned the  destruction  of  many  of  his  own  men.  At  last,  the  bar- 
barians being  quite  beaten  off,  the  army  wound  its  waj'’  out  of  the 
defile  in  safety,  and  rested  in  the  wide  and  rich  valley  which  ex- 
tends from  the  Lake  of  Bourget,  with  scarcely  a perceptible  change 
Df  level,  to  the  Isere  at  Moutmeillau.  Hannibal  meanwhile  attacked 
and  stormed  the  town,  which  was  the  barbarians’  principal  strong- 
hold ; and  here  he  recovered  not  only  a great  many  of  his  own  men, 
horses  and  baggage  cattle,  but  also  found  a large  supply  of  corn  and 
cattle  belonging  to  the  barbarians,  which  he  immediately  made  use  of 
for  the  consumption  of  his  soldiers. 

In  the  plain  which  he  had  now  reached,  he  halted  for  a whole  day, 
and  then  resuming  his  march,  proceeded  for  three  days  up  the  valley 
of  the  Isere  on  the  right  bank,  without  encountering  any  difficulty. 
Then  the  natives  met  him  with  branches  of  trees  in  their  hands,  and 
wreaths  on  their  heads,  in  token  of  peace  : they  spoke  fairly,  offered 
hostages,  and  wished,  they  said,  neither  to  do  the  Carthaginians  any 
injury,  nor  to  receive  any  from  them.  Hannibal  mistrusted  them, 
yet  did  not  wisn  to  offend  them  ; he  accepted  their  terms,  received 
their  hostages,  a.'id  obtained  large  supplies  of  cattle  ; and  their  whole 
behavior  seemed  so  trustworthy,  that  at  last  he  accepted  their  guid- 
ance, it  is  said,  thiough  a difficult  part  of  the  country,  which  he  was 
now  approaching.  For  all  the  Alpine  valleys  become  narrower  as 
they  draw  near  to  the  central  chain  ; and  the  mountains  often  come 
so  close  to  the  stream,  that  the  roads  in  old  times  were  often  obliged 
to  leave  the  valley  and  ascend  the  hills  by  any  accessible  point,  to 
descend  again  when  ihe  gorge  became  wider,  and  follow  the  stream 
as  before.  If  this  is  not  done,  and  the  track  is  carried  nearer  the 
river,  it  pas.ses  often  through  defiles  of  the  most  formidable  character, 
being  no  m )ro  than  a .narrow  ledge  above  a furious  torrent,  with  cliffs 
rising  above  it  absolutely  precipitous,  and  coming  down  on  the  other 
side  of  the  torrent  abruptly  to  the  water,  leaving  no  passage  by  which 
man,  or  even  goat,  could  make  his  way. 

It  appears  that  the  barbarians  persuaded  Hannibal  to  pass  through 
one  of  these  defiles,  instead  of  going  round  it ; and  while  his  army 
was  involved  in  it,  they  suddenly,  and  without  provocation,  as  we 
are  told,  attacked  him.  Making  their  way  along  the  mountain  sides, 
above  the  defile,  they  rolled  down  masses  of  rock  on  the  Cartha- 
ginians below,  or  even  threw  stones  upon  them  from  their  hands, 
stones  and  rocks  being  equally  fatal  against  an  enemy'  so  entangled. 
It  was  well  for  Hannibal,  that,  still  doubting  the  barbarians’  faith, 
he  had  sent  forward  his  cavalry  and  baggage,  and  covered  the  march 
»fith  his  i>ffantry,  who  thus  had  to  sustain  the  brunt  of  the  attack. 


16 


LIFE  OF  BAKXIBAL. 


Foot-soldiers  on  such  ground  were  able  to  move  where  horses  would 
be  quite  helpless  ; and  thus,  at  last,  Hannibal,  with  his  infantrjq 
forced  his  way  to  the  summit  of  one  of  the  bare  cliffs  overhanging 
the  defile,  and  remained  there  during  the  night,  whilst  the  cavalry 
and  baggage  slowlj’  struggled  out  of  the  defile.  Thus,  again  baffled, 
the  barbai  ians  made  no  more  general  attacks  on  the  army  ; some  par- 
tial annoyance  was  occasioned  at  intervals  ; and  some  baggage  was 
carried  off  ; but  it  was  observed,  that  wherever  the  elephants  were, 
the  line  of  march  was  secure  ; for  the  barbarians  beheld  those  huge 
creatures  with  terror,  having  never  had  the  slightest  knowledge  of 
hem,  and  not  daring  to  approach  when  they  saw  them. 

Without  any  further  recorded  difficult , the  army,  on  the  ninth 
day  after  they  had  left  the  plains  of  Dauphine,  arrived  at  the  summit 
of  the  central  ridge  of  the  Alps.  Here  there  is  always  a plain  of 
some  extent,  immediately  overhung  by’^  the  snowy-  summits  of  the 
high  mountains,  but  itself  in  summer  presenting,  in  many  parts,  a 
carpet  of  the  freshest  grass,  with  the  chalets  of  the  shepherds  scat- 
tered over  it,  and  gay-  with  a thousand  flowers.  But  far  different  is 
its  aspect  through  the  greatest  part  of  the  year  : then  it  is  one  un- 
varied waste  of  snow  ; and  the  little  lakes,  which,  on  many  of  the 
passes,  enliven  the  summer  landscape,  are  now  frozen  over  and  cov- 
ered with  snow,  so  as  to  be  no  longer  distinguishable.  Hannibal  was 
on  the  summit  of  the  Alps  about  the  end  of  October  ; the  first  winter 
snows  had  already  fallen  ; but  two  hundred  y-ears  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  when  all  Geimany  was  one  vast  forest,  the  climate  of  the 
Alps  was  far  colder  than  at  present,  and  the  snow  lay  on  the  passes 
all  through  the  y-ear.  Thus  the  soldiers  were  in  dreary'  quarters  ; 
they-  remained  two  days  on  the  summit,  resting  from  their  fatigues, 
and  giving  opportunity  to  many  of  the  stragglers,  and  of  the  horses 
and  cattle,  to  rejoin  them  by-  following  their  track  ; but  they  were 
cold,  and  worn,  and  disheartened  ; and  mountains  still  rose  before 
them,  through  which,  as  they  knew  too  well,  even  their  descent 
might  be  perilous  and  painful. 

But  their  great  general,  who  felt  that  he  now  stood  victorious  on 
the  ramparts  of  Italy-,  and  that  the  torrent  which  rolled  before  him 
was  carrying  its  waters  to  the  rich  plains  of  Cisalpine  Gaul,  endeav- 
ored to  kindle  his  soldiers  with  his  own  spirit  of  hope.  He  called 
them  together  ; he  pointed  out  the  valley  beneath,  to  which  the  de- 
scent seemed  the  work  of  a moment:  “That  valley-,”  he  said,  “is 
Italy  ; it  leads  us  to  the  country  of  our  friends  the  Gauls  ; and  yon- 
der is  our  way-  to  Rome.”  His  eyes  were  eagerly  fixed  on  that  point 
of  the  horizon  ; and  as  he  gazed,  the  distance  between  seemed  to  van- 
ish, till  he  could  almost  fancy  that  he  was  crossing  the  Tiber,  and  as- 
sailing the  capital. 

After  the  two  days’  rest  the  descent  began.  Hannibal  experienced 
no  more  open  hostility-  from  the  barbarians,  only  some  petty  attempts 
here  and  there  to  plunder ; a fact  strange  in  itself,  but  doubly  so 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


17 


if  he  were  really  descending  the  valley  of  the  Doria  Baltea,  through 
the  country  of  the  Salassians,  the  most  untamable  robbers  of  all  the 
Alpine  barbarians.  It  is  possible  that  the  influence  of  the  Insubrians 
may  partly  have  restrained  the  mountaineers  ; and  partly  also  they 
may  have  been  deterred  by  the  ill  success  of  former  attacks,  and 
may  by  this  time  have  regarded  the  strange  army  and  its  monstrous 
beasts  with  something  of  superstitious  terror.  But  the  natural  difB- 
culties  of  the  ground  on  the  descent  were  greater  than  ever.  The 
snow  covered  the  track  so  that  the  men  often  lost  it,  and  fell  down 
the  steep  b<‘low  : at  last  they  came  to  a place  where  an  avalanche  had 
carried  it  away  altogether  for  abort  three  hundred  y'ards,  leaving  the 
mountain-side  a mere  wreck  of  scattered  rocks  and  snow.  To  go 
round  was  impossible  ; for  the  depth  of  the  snow  on  the  heights 
above  rendered  it  hopeless  to  scale  them  ; nothing  therefore  was  left 
but  to  repair  the  road.  A summit  of  some  extent  was  found,  and 
cleared  of  the  snow  ; and  here  the  army  were  obliged  to  encamp 
whilst  the  work  went  on.  There  was  no  want  of  hands  ; and  every 
man  was  laboring  for  his  life  : the  road,  therefore,  was  restored,  and 
supported  with  solid  substructions  below  ; aud  in  a single  day  it  was 
made  practicable  for  the  cavalry  and  baggage  cattle,  which  were  im- 
mediately sent  forward,  and  reached  the  lower  vallej"  in  safety, 
where  they  were  turned  out  to  pasture.  A harder  labor  was  required 
to  make  a passage  for  the  elephants  : the  way  for  them  must  be  wide 
and  solid  ; and  the  work  could  not  be  accomplished  in  less  than  three 
days.  Tlie  poor  animals  sullerel  severely  in  the  interval  from  hun- 
ger ; for  no  forage  was  to  be  found  in  that  wilderness  of  snow,  nor 
any  trees  whose  leaves  might  supply  the  place  of  other  herbage.  At 
last,  they  too  were  able  to  proceed  with  safety  ; Hannibal  overtook 
his  cavalry  and  baggage  ; and  in  three  days  more  the  whole  army 
had  got  clear  of  the  Alpine  valleys,  and  entered  the  country  of  their 
friends,  the  Insubrians,  on  the  wide  plain  of  northerm  Italy. 

Hannibal  was  arrived  in  Italy,  but  with  a force  so  weakened  by  its 
losses  in  men  and  horses,  and  by  the  exhausted  state  of  the  surviv- 
ors, that  he  might  seem  to  have  accomplished  his  great  march  in 
vain.  According  to  his  own  statement,  which  there  is  no  reason  to 
doul)t,  he  brought  out  of  the  Alpine  valleys  no  more  than  12,000 
African  and  8000  Spanish  infantry,  with  6000  cavalry  ; so  that  his 
march  from  the  Pyrenees  to  the  plains  of  northern  Italy  must  have 
cost  him  33,000  men  ; an  enormous  loss,  which  proves  how  severely 
the  army  must  have  suffered  from  the  priv  dions  of  the  march  and 
the  severity  of  the  Al])ine  climate  ; for  not  half  of  these  33,000  men 
can  have  fallen  in  battle.  With  his  army  in  this  condition,  some 
period  of  repose  was  absolutely  necessary  : accordingly,  Hannibal 
remained  in  the  country  of  the  Insubrians,  till  rest,  and  a more  tem- 
perate climate,  and  whr.lesome  food,  with  which  the  Gauls  plentifully 
supplied  him,  restored  the  bodies  and  spirits  of  his  soldiers,  and  made 
them  again  ready  for  action.  His  first  movement  was  against  the 


18 


IIFE  OF  HANKIBAL. 


Taurinians,  a Ligurian  people,  who  were  constant  enemies  of  the  In 
subrians,  and  iherefore  would  not  listen  to  Hannibal  when  he  in 
vited  them  to  join  his  cause.  He  therefore  attacked  and  stormed 
their  principal  town,  put  the  garrison  to  the  sword,  and  struck  such 
terror  into  the  neighboring  tribes,  that  they  submitted  immediately, 
and  became  his  allies.  This  was  his  first  accession  of  strength  in 
Italy,  the  first  fruits,  as  he  hoped,  of  a long  succession  of  defections 
among  the  allies  of  Rome,  so  that  the  swords  of  the  Italians  might 
effect  for  him  the  conquest  of  Italj'. 

Meanwhile  Scipio  had  landed  at  Pisa,  had  crossed  the  Apennines, 
and  taken  the  command  of  the  prretors’  army,  sending  the  pra;tors 
themselves  back  to  Rome,  had  crossed  the  Po  at  Placentia,  and  w:is 
ascending  its  left  bank,  being  anxious  to  advance  witli  all  possible 
liaste,  in  order  to  hinder  a general  rising  of  the  Gaids  by  his  pres- 
ence. Hannibal,  for  the  opposite  reason,  was  eipially  anxious  to 
meet  him,  being  well  aware  that  the  Gauls  were  only  restrained  from 
revolting,  to  the  Carthaginians,  by  fear,  and  that  on  his  first  success 
in  the  field  they  would  join  him'  He  Iherefore  descended  the  left 
bank  of  the  Po,  keeping  the  river  on  his  right  ; and  Scipio  having 
thrown  a bridge  over  the  Ticinus,  had  entered  what  are  now  tlie  Sar- 
dinian dominions,  and  was  still  advancing  westward,  with  the  Po  on 
his  left,  although,  as  the  river  here  makes  a bend  to  the  southward, 
Im  was  no  longer  in  its  immediate  neighborhood. 

Each  general  wars  aware  that  his  enemy  was  at  hand,  and  both 
pushed  forward  with  their  cavalry  and  light  troops  in  advance  of 
their  main  armies,  to  reconnoitre  each  other’s  position  and  numbers. 
Thus  was  brought  on  accidentally  the  first  action  between  Hannibal 
and  the  Romans  in  Italy,  which,  with  some  exaggeration,  has  been 
called  the  battle  of  the  Ticinus.  The  Rumidians  in  Hannibal's  anny, 
being  now  properly  supported  b}^  heavy  cavalrjq  were  able  to  follow 
their  own  manner  of  fighting,  and  falling  on  the  flanks  and  rear  of 
the  Romans,  who  were  already  engaged  in  front  with  Hannibal’s 
heavy  horsemen,  took  ample  vengeance  for  their  defeat  on  the 
Rhone.  The  Romans  w'ere  routed  ; anil  the  consid  himself  was 
severely  w'ounded,  and  owed  his  life,  it  is  said,  to  the  courage  and 
fidelity  of  a Ligurian  slave.  With  their  cavalrj'  thus  crippled,  it  was 
impossible  to  act  in  such  an  open  countr}* ; the  Romaus  therefore 
hastily  retreated,  recrossed  the  Ticinus,  and  broke  down  the  bridge, 
yet  wfith  so  much  hurry  and  confusion,  that  600  men  were  left  on  the 
right  bank,  and  fell  into  the  enem3’’s  hands  ; and  then  crossing  the  Po 
also,  established  themselves  under  the  walls  of  their  colony  Placentia. 

Hannibal,  finding  the  bridge  over  the  Ticinus  destroved,  reascended 
the  left  bank  of  the  Po  till  he  found  a convenient  point  to  cross,  and 
then,  having  constructed  a bridge  with  the  river  boats,  carried  over 
his  armj'^  in  safety.  Immediate!}’,  as  he  had  expected,  the  Gauls  on 
the  right  bank  received  him  with  open  arms  ; and  again  deseending 
the  river,  he  arrived  on  the  second  dqv  after  his  passage  in  sight  of 


LIFE  OF  HAXXIBAL. 


19 


the  Roman  army,  and  on  the  following  day  offered  them  battle.  But 
as  the  Romans  did  not  move,  he  chose  out  a spot  for  his  camp,  and 
posted  his  army  live  or  six  miles  from  the  enemy,  and  apparently  on 
ihe  east  of  Placentia,  cutting  off  their  direct  communication  with 
Ariminum  and  Rome. 

On  the  first  news  of  Hannibal’s  arrival  in  Ital}',  the  senate  sent 
orders  to  the  other  consul,  Ti.  Sempronius,  to  return  immediately  to 
reinforce  his  colleague.  No  event  of  importance  had  marked  the 
first  summer  of  the  war  in  Sicil3^  Hannibal’s  spirit  so  animated  the 
Jarthagiuian  government  that  they  were  everywhere  preparing  to  act 
on  the  offensive  ; and  before  the  arrival  of  Sempronius,  Hlmilius,  the 
prretor,  had  already  had  to  fight  a naval  action  with  the  enemj",  in 
order  to  defend  Lilybajum.  He  had  defeated  them,  and  prevented 
their  landing,  but  the  Carthaginian  fleets  still  kept  the  sea  ; and  whilst 
Sempronius  was  employing  his  whole  force  in  the  conquest  of  the 
Islauil  of  Melita,  the  enemy  were  cruising  on  the  northern  side  of 
Sicily,  and  making  descents  on  the  coast  of  Italy.  On  his  return  to 
Lil.vbaeum  he  was  going  in  pursuit  of  them,  .when  he  received  orders 
to  return  home  and  join  his  colleague,  lie  accordingly  left  part  of  his 
fleet  with  the  prretor  in  Sicil}^  and  part  he  committed  to  Sex.  Pom- 
ponius,  his  lieutenant,  for  the  protection  of  the  coasts  of  Lucania  and 
Campania  ; whilst,  from  a dread  of  the  dangers  and  delay's  of  the 
winter  navigation  of  the  Adriatic,  his  army  was  to  march  from 
Lilybaeum  to  iMessana,  and  after  crossing  the  strait  to  go  by'  land 
through  the  whole  length  of  Italy',  the  soldiers  being  bound  by'  oath 
to  appear  on  a certain  day'  at  Ariminum.  They  completed  their  long 
march,  it  is  said,  in  forty'  day's  ; and  from  Ariminum  they  has- 
tened to  the  scene  of  action,  and  effected  their  junction  with  the  army' 
of  Scipio. 

Sempronius  found  his  colleague  no  longer  in  his  original  position, 
close  by  Placentia  and  the  Po,  but  withdrawn  to  the  first  hills  which 
bound  the  great  plain  on  the  south,  and  leave  an  interval  here  of 
about  six  miles  between  themselves  and  the  river.  But  Hannibal’s 
army,  lying,  as  it  seems,  to  the  eastward,  the  Roman  consul  retreated 
westward,  and  leaving  Placentia  to  its  own  resources,  crossed  to  the 
left  bank  of  the  Trebia,  and  there  lay  encamped,  just  where  the 
stream  issues  from  the  last  hills  of  the  Apennines.  It  appears  that 
the  Romans  had  several  magazines  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Po  above 
Placentia,  on  which  the  consul  probably  depended  for  his  subsistence  • 
and  these  posts,  together  with  the  presence  of  his  army',  kept  the 
Gauls  on  the  immediate  bank  of  the  river  quiet,  so  that  they  gave 
Hannibal  no  assistance.  When  the  Romans  fell  back  behind  the 
Trebia,  Hannibal  followed  them,  and  encamped  about  five  miles  off 
from  them,  directly'  between  them  and  Placentia.  But  his  powerful 
cavalry  kept  his  communications  open  in  every  direction  ; ami  the 
Gauls  who  lived  out  of  the  immediate  control  of  the  Roman  army  and 
garrisons,  supplied  him  with  provisions  abundantly. 


20 


LIFE  OF  HAKiaBAL. 


It  is  not  explained  by  any  existing  writer  how  Sempronius  waf* 
able  to  effect  his  junction  with  his  colleague  without  any  oppos.tion 
from  Hannibal.  The  regular  road  from  Ariminum  to  Placentia 
passes  through  a country  unvaried  by  a singl.  hill  ; and  the  approach 
of  a large  army  should  have  been  announced  to  Hannibal  bj'  hLs 
Numidian  cavalry,  soon  enough  to  allow  him  to  interrupt  it.  But  so 
much  in  war  depends  upon  trifling  accidents,  that  it  is  in  vain  tc 
guess  where  we  are  without  information.  We  only  know  that  the 
two  consular  armies  were  united  in  Scipio’s  position  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  Trebia  ; that  their  united  forces  amounted  to  40,000  men  ; and 
that  Hannibal,  with  an  army  so  reinforced  by  the  Gauls  since  his 
arrival  in  Italy,  that  it  was  little  inferior  to  his  enemy’s,  was  so  far 
from  fearing  to  engage  either  consul  singly,  that  he  wished  for  noth- 
ing so  much  as  to  bring  on  a decisive  battle  with  the  combined  armies 
of  both.  Depending  on  the  support  of  the  Gauls  for  his  subsistence, 
he  must  not  be  too  long  a burden  to  them  : they  had  hoped  to  be  led 
to  live  on  the  plunder  of  the  enemy’s  country,  not  to  maintain  him  at 
the  expense  of  their  own.  In  order  to  force  the  Romans  to  a battle, 
he  began  to  attack  their  magazines.  Clastidium,  now  Castiggio,  a 
small  town  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Po,  near]}"  opposite  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Ticinus,  was  betrayed  into  his  hands  by  the  governor  ; and  he 
here  found  large  supplies  of  corn. 

On  the  other  hand,  Sempronius,  having  no  fears  for  the  event  of  a 
battle,  was  longing  for  the  glory  of  a triumph  over  such  an  enemy  as 
Hannibal ; and  as  Scipio  was  still  disabled  by  his  wound,  he  had  the 
command  of  the  whole  Roman  army.  Besides,  the  Gauls  who  lived 
in  the  plain  between  the  Trebia  and  Placentia,  not  knowing  which 
side  to  espouse,  had  been  plundered  by  Hannibal’s  cavalry,  and  be- 
sought the  consuls  to  protect  them.  This  was  no  time,  Sempronius 
thought,  to  neglect  any  ally  who  still  remained  faithful  to  Rome  ; he 
sent  out  his  cavalry  and  light  troops  over  the  Trebia  to  drive  off  the 
plunderers  ; and  in  such  skirmishes  he  obtained  some  partial  success, 
which  made  him  the  more  disposed  to  risk  a general  battle. 

For  this,  as  a Roman  officer,  and  before  Hannibal’s  military  talents 
were  fully  known,  he  ought  not  to  be  harshly  judged  ; hut  his  manner 
of  engaging  was  rash,  and  unworthy  of  an  able  general.  lie  allowed 
the  attacks  of  llannibars  light  cavalry  to  tempt  him  to  follow_  them 
to  their  own  field  of  battle.  Earl}"  in  the  morning  the  Nnmidians 
cros.sed  the  river,  and  skirmished  close  up  to  the  Roman  camp  : the 
consul  first  sent  out  his  cavalry,  and  then  his  light  infantry,  to  repel 
them  ; and  when  they  gave  way  and  recrossed  the  river,  he  led  his 
regular  infantry  out  of  his  camp,  and  gave  orders  for  the  whole 
army  to  advance  over  the  Trebia  and  attack  the  enemy. 

It  was  midwinter,  and  the  wide  pebbly  bed  of  the  Trebia,  which 
the  summer  traveller  may  almost  pass  dry-shod,  was  now  filled  with 
a rapid  stream  running  breast-high.  In  the  night  it  had  rained  or 
snowed  heavily  ; and  the  morning  was  raw  and  chilly,  threatening 


OF  HANSTIBAL. 


21 


sleet  or  snow.  Yet  Rerapronhi',  led  his  soldiers  through  the  river, 
before  they  li:ul  eaten  anytl)ing  ; and  wet,  cold,  an<l  hungry  as  tliey 
were,  he  fonned  them  in  order  of  battle  on  the  plain.  >leanwhila 
Hannibal’s  men  had  eaten  their  breakfast  in  their  tents,  and  had  oiled 
their  bodies,  and  put  on  their  armor  around  their  fires.  Then,  when 
the  enemy  had  crossed  the  Trebia,  and  were  advancing  in  the  open 
plain,  the  Cartliaginians  marched  out  to  meet  them  ; and  about  a 
mile  in  front  of  their  camp,  they  formed  in  order  of  battle.  Their 
disposition  was  simple  : the  heavy  infantry,  Gauls,  Spaniards,  and 
Africans,  to  the  number  of  20,000,  were  drawn  up  in  a single  line  . 
the  cavalry,  10,000  strong,  was,  with  the  elephants,  on  the  twe- 
wings  : the  light  infantry  and  Balerian  slingers  were  in  the  front  of 
the  whole  arrny.  This  was  all  Hannibal’s  visible  force.  But  near 
the  Trebia,  and  now  left  in  their  rear  by  the  advancing  Roman 
legions,  were  lying  close  hid  in  the  deep  and  overgrown  bed  of  a 
small  watercourse,  two  thousand  picked  soldiers,  horse  and  foot,  com- 
manded by  Ffannibal’s  younger  brother  Mago,  whom  he  had  posted 
there  during  the  night,  and  whose  ambush  the  Romans  passed  with 
no  suspicion.  Arrived  on  the  field  of  batth;,  the  legions  were  formed 
in  their  usual  order,  with  the  allied  infantry  on  the  wings  ; and  their 
weak  cavalry  of  4000  men,  ill  able  to  contend  with  the  numerous 
horsemen  of  Hannibal,  were  on  the  flanks  of  the  whole  line. 

The  Roman  velites,  or  light  infantry,  who  had  been  in  action  since 
daybreak,  and  had  already  shot  away  half  their  darts  and  arrows, 
were  soon  driven  back  upon  the  hastati  and  principes,  and  passed 
through  the  intervals  of  tlie  maniples  to  the  rear.  \Vith  no  less  ease 
were  the  cavalry  beaten  on  both  wings,  by  Hannibal’s  horse  and  ele- 
phants. But  when  the  heavy  infantry,  superior  in  number  and  bet 
ter  armed  both  for  offence  and  defence,  closed  with  the  enemy,  tha 
confidence  of  Sempronius  seemed  to  be  justified  ; and  the  Romans, 
numbed  and  exhausted  as  they  were,  yet,  by  their  excellence  in  all 
soldierly  qualities,  maintained  the  fight  wdth  equal  advantage. 

On  a sudden  a loud  alarm  was  heard  ; and  Mago,  with  his  cliosee 
band,  broke  out  from  his  ambush,  and  assaulted  them  furiously"  in 
the  rear.  Meantime  both  wings  of  the  Roman  infantry  were  brokei 
down  b}"^  the  elephants,  and  overwhelmed  by  the  missiles  of  tin 
light  infantry,  till  they  were  utterly  routed,  and  fled  towards  the 
Trebia.  The  legions  in  the  centre,  finding  themselves  assailed  on  tlu 
rear,  pushed  desperately  forwards,  forced  their  way  through  the  en- 
emy’s line  and  marched  off  the  field  straight  to  Placentia.  Many  of 
the  routed  cavalry  made  off  in  the  same  direction,- and  so  escaped 
But  those  who  fled  towards  the  river  were  slaughtered  unceasingly 
by  the  conquerors  till  they  reached  it  ; and  the  loss  here  was  enor- 
mous. The  Carthaginians,  however,  stopped  their  pursuit  on  the  bank 
of  the  Trebia  : the  cold  was  piercing,  and  to  the  elephants  so  intoler- 
able that  they  almost  all  perished  ; even  of  the  men  and  hors(«  nn  rn 
were  lost,  so  that  the  wreck  of  the  Roman  army  reached  their  camp 


22 


LIFE  OF  HAX2s"^IBAL. 


in  safety  ; anrl  when  night  came  on,  Scipio  again  led  them  across  the 
river,  and,  passing  unnoticed  by  the  camp  of  the  enemy,  took  refuge 
with  his  colleague  within  the  walls  of  Placentia. 

So  ended  Hannibal’s  first  campaign  in  Italy.  The  Romans,  after 
their  defeat,  despaired  of  maintaining  their  ground  on  the  Po  ; and 
the  two  consular  armies  retreated  in  opposite  directions,  Scipio’a 
upon  Ariminum,  and  that  of  Sempronius  across  the  Apennines  into 
Etruria.  Hannibal  remained  master  of  Cisalpine  Gaul  ; but  the 
season  did  not  allow  him  to  besiege  Placentia  and  Cremona  : and  the 
temper  of  the  Gauls  rendered  it  evident  that  he  must  not  make  their 
country  the  seat  of  war  in  another  campaign.  Alreadj’  they  bore  the 
burden  of  supporting  his  army  so  impatiently,  that  he  made  an  at- 
tempt, in  the  dead  of  the  winter,  to  cross  the  Apennines  into  Etruria, 
and  was  only  driven  back  by  the  extreme  severity  of  the  weather, 
the  wind  sweeping  with  such  furj'  over  the  ridges,  and  through  the 
passes  of  the  mountains,  that  neither  man  nor  beast  could  stand 
against  it.  He  was  forced,  therefore,  to  winter  in  Gaul  ; but  the 
innate  fickleness  and  treachery  of  the  people  led  him  to  suspect  that 
attempts  would  be  made  against  his  life,  and  that  a Gaidish  assassin 
might  hope  to  purchase  forgiveness  *from  the  Romans  for  his  coun- 
try’s revolt,  by  destroying  the  general  who  had  seduced  them.  He 
therefore  put  on  a variety  of  disguises  to  baffle  such  designs  ; he 
wore  false  hair,  appearing  sometimes  as  a man  of  mature  years,  and 
sometimes  with  the  gray  hairs  of  old  age  ; and  if  he  had  that  taste 
for  liumor  which  great  men  are  seldom  without,  and  which  some 
anecdotes  of  him  implj',  he  must  have  been  often  amused  by  the  mis- 
takes thus  occasioned,  and  have  derived  entertainment  from  that 
which  policy  or  necessity  had  dictated. 

We  slionld  be  glad  to  catch  a distinct  view  of  the  state  of  Rome, 
when  the  news  first  arrived  of  the  battle  of  the  Trebia.  Since  the 
di.saster  of  Caudium,  more  than  a hundred  years  before,  there  had 
been  known  no  defeat  of  two  consular  armies  united  ; and  the  sur- 
prise and  vexation  must  have  been  great.  Sempronius,  it  is  said, 
returned  to  Rome  to  hold  the  comitia  ; and  the  people  resolved  to 
elect  as  consul  a man  who,  liowever  unwelcome  to  the  aristocracy, 
had  already  distinguished  himself  by  lirilliant  victories,  in  the  very 
country  which  was  now  the  seat  of  war.  They  accordinglj’  chose  C. 
Flaminius  for  the  second  time  consul  ; and  with  him  was  elected  Cu. 
Bervilius  Geminus,  a man  of  an  old  patrician  family,  and  personally 
attached  to  tlie  aristocratical  party,  but  unknown  to  us  before  his 
present  consulship.  Flaminius’  election  was  most  unpalatable  to  the 
aristocracy  ; and,  as  numerous  prodigies  were  reported,  and  the  Sib}d- 
line  books  consulted,  and  it  was  certain  that  various  rites  would  be  or- 
dered to  propitiate  the  favor  of  the  gods,  he  had  some  reason  to  suspect 
that  his  election  would  again  be  declared  null  and  void,  and  he  hiin- 
{•^If  thus  deprived  of  his  command  ; he  was  anxious  therefore  to  leave 
5lo«ne  as  »oon  as  possible  ; as  lus  colleague  was  detained  by  the  re 


LIFE  OF  HAimiBAL. 


23 


Iigious  ceremonies,  and  by  the  care  of  superintendiuir  the  new  levies, 
Flamiuius,  it  is  said,  left  the  city  before  the  15th  of  March,  when  hia 
consulship  was  to  begin,  and  actually  entered  upon  his  ofBce  at  An- 
minum,  whither  he  had  gone  to  superintend  the  formation  of  maga- 
zines, and  to  examine  the  state  of  the  armj^  But  the  aristocracy 
thought  it  was  no  time  to  press  party  animosities  ; they  made  no  at- 
tempt to  disturb  Flaminins’  election  ; and  he  appears  to  have  had  his 
province  assigned  him  without  opposition,  and  to  have  been  ap- 
pointed to  command  Semprouius’  armj’  in  Etruria,  while  Servilius 
succeeded  Scipio  at  Ariminura.  The  levies  of  soldiers  went  on  vig- 
orously ; two  legions  were  employed  in  Spain  ; one  was  sent  to 
Sicily,  another  to  Sardinia,  and  another  to  Tarcntum  ; and  four 
legions,  more  or  less  thinned  by  the  defeat  at  the  Trebia,  still  formed 
the  nucleus  of  two  armies  in  Ariminum  and  in  Etruria.  It  api)ears 
that  four  new  legions  wore  levied,  with  an  unusually  large  propor- 
tion of  soldiers  from  the  Italiau  allies  and  the  Latin  name  ; and  these 
being  divided  between  the  two  consuls,  the  armies  opposed  to  Han- 
nibal on  either  line,  ly  which  he  might  advance,  must  have  been  in 
point  of  numbers  exceedingly  formidable.  Servilius,  as  we  have 
seen,  had  his  headquarters  at  Ariminum  ; and  Scipio,  whom  he 
superseded,  sailed  as  proconsul  into  Spain,  to  take  command  of  his 
original  army  there.  Flamiuius  succeeded  to  Semprouius  in  Etruria, 
aud  lay  encamped,  it  is  said,  in  the  ueighboidiood  of  Arretium. 

Thus  the  main  Roman  armies  lay  nearly  in  the  same  positions 
which  they  had  held  eight  years  before,  to  oppose  the  e.xpected  in- 
vasion of  the  Gauls.  But  as  the  Gauls  then  broke  into  Etruria  un- 
perceived, by  either  Roman  army,  so  the  Romans  were  again  sur- 
prised by  Hannibal  ou  a line  where  they  had  not  expected  him.  He 
crossed  the  Apennines,  not  by  the  ordinary  road  to  Lucca,  descend- 
ing the  valley  of  the  Macra,  but,  as  it  appears,  by  a straighter  line 
down  the  valle3'  of  the  Auser  or  Serchio  ; aud  leaving  Lucca  ou  his 
right,  he  proceeded  to  struggle  through  the  low  aud  flooded  counl  iy 
which  lay  between  the  right  bank  of  the  Arno  and  the  Apennines 
below  Florence,  and  of  which  the  marsh  or  lake  of  Fucecchio  still 
remains  a specimen.  Here,  again,  the  sufferings  of  the  artu}^  were  ex- 
treme  ; but  the3"  were  rewarded  when  the3"  reached  the  firm  ground 
below  Fajsulse,  aud  were  let  loose  upon  the  plunder  of  the  rich  valley 
of  the  upper  Arno. 

Flaminins  hy  quietly  at  Arretium,  and  did  not  attempt  to  give 
battle,  but  sent  messengers  to  his  colleague,  to  inform  him  of  the 
enemy’s  appearance  in  Etruria.  Hannibal  was  now  on  the  south  of 
the  Apennines,  and  in  the  heart  of  Italy  ; but  the  experience  of  the 
Samnites  and  of  P3'rrhus  had  shown  tliat  the  Etruscans  were  scarcely 
more  to  be  relied  on  than  the  Gauls  ; and  it  was  in  the  south,  in 
Samnium  and  Lucania  and  Apulia,  that  the  only  materials  existed  for 
'organizing  a new  Italian  war  against  Rome.  Accordingly  Hannibal 
advanced  rapidly'  into  Etruria,  siud  fiiwibig  that  Flaminius  stiU  ‘lid 


LIFE  OF  HAJIKIBAL. 


•^4 


not  move,  passed  l)y  Arrctium,  leaving  the  Eomaii  army  in  his  tear, 
and  marching,  as  it  seemed,  to  gain  the  great  plain  of  central  Italy, 
which  reaches  from  Perusia  to  Spoletum,  and  was  traversed  by  tile 
great  road  from  Arimiimm  to  Rome. 

The  consul  Flaminius  now  at  last  broke  up  from  his  position,  and 
followed  the  enemy.  Hannibal  laid  waste  the  country  on  every  side 
witli  tire  and  sword,  to  provoke  the  Romans  to  a has'ty  battle';  and 
leaving  Cortona  on  his  left  untouched  on  its  mountain  scat,  he  ap- 
proached the  Lake  of  Thrasymenus,  and  followed  the  road  along  its 
north-eastern  shoi-e,  till  it  ascended  tlie  hills  which  divide  the  lake 
from  the  basin  of  the  Tiber.  Flaminius  was  fully  convinced  that 
Ilannihars  object  was  not  to  fight  a battle,  but  to  lay  waste  the  rich- 
est part  of  Italy  : had  he  wished  to  engage,  why  had  he  not  attacked 
him  when  he  lay  at  Arretium,  and  while  his  colleague  was  far  awa}' 
at  Ariminum  ? With  this  impression  he  pressed  on  his  rear  closely, 
never  dreaming  that  the  lion  wotdd  turn  from  the  pursuit  of  his  de- 
fenceless prey,  to  spring  on  the  shepherds  who  were  dogging  his 
stops  behind. 

The  modern  road  along  the  lake,  after  passing  the  village  of  Passig- 
nano,  runs  for  some  wajy  close  to  the  water’s  edge  on  the  righl, 
hemmed  in  on  the  left  by  a line  of  cliffs,  which  make  it  an  absolute 
defile.  Then  it  tmns  from  the  lake  and  ascends  the  hills  ; yet, 
although  they  form  something  of  a curve,  there  is  nothing  to  deserve 
the  name  of  valley  ; and  th.e  road,  after  leaving  the  lake,  begins  to 
ascend  almost  immediately,  so  that  there  is  a very  short  distance 
during  which  the  hills  on  the  right  and  left  command  it.  The 
ground,  therefore,  does  not  well  correspond  with  the  description  of 
Polybius,  who  states  that  the  vallej'  in  which  the  Romans  were 
caught  was  not  the  narrow  interval  between  the  hills  and  the  lake, 
but  a valley  beyond  this  defile,  and  running  down  to  the  lake,  so  that 
the  Romans,  when  engaged  in  it,  had  the  water  not  on  their  right 
flank,  but  on  their  rear.  Livj'’s  account  is  different,  and  represents 
the  Romans  as  caught  in  the  defile  beyond  Passignauo,  between  the 
cliff  and  the  lake.  It  is  possible  that,  if  the  e.xact  tine  of  the  ancient 
road  could  be  discovered,  it  might  assist  in  solving  the  diftieully  . in 
th.e  mean  time  the  battle  of  Thrasymenus  must  be  one  of  the  many 
events  in  ancient  military  history,  where  the  accounts  of  historians, 
ditfering  either  with  each  other  or  with  the  actual  appearances  of 
the  ground,  are  to  us  inexplicable. 

The  consul  had  encamped  in  the  evening  on  the  side  of  the  lake, 
hist  within  the  present  Roman  frontier,  and  on  the  Tuscan  side  ()f 
Passignano  : he  had  made  a forced  march,  and  had  arrived  at  his 
position  so  late  that  he  could  not  examine  the  ground  before  him. 
Earl}'  the  next  morning  he  set  forward  again  ; the  morning  mist 
hung  thickly  over  the  lake  and  the  low  grounds,  leaving  the  heights, 
as  is  often  the  case,  quite  clear.  Flaminius,  anxious  to  overtake  hie 
enemy,  rejoiced  in  the  friendly  veil  wbiah  dnis  concealed  his  ad- 


LIFE  OF  ITAIIIiriBAL. 


25 


vaace,  and  hoped  to  fall  upon  Hannibal’s  army  'n’hile  it  was  still  in 
marching  order,  and  its  columns  encumbered  with  the  plunder  of  the 
valley  of  the  Arno.  He  passed  through  the  defile  of  Passignano,  and 
found  no  enemy  ; this  confirmed  him  in  his  belief  that  Hannibal  did 
not  mean  to  fight.  Ahead}'  the  Numidian  cavalry  were  on  the  edge 
of  the  basin  of  the  Tiber  : unless  he  could  overtake  them  speedily, 
they  would  have  reached  the  plain  ; and  Africans,  Spaniards,  and 
Gauls,  would  be  rioting  in  the  devastation  of  the  garden  of  Italy 
So  the  consul  rejoiced  as  the  heads  of  his  columns  emerged  from  the 
defile,  and,  turning  to  the  left,  began  to  ascend  the  hills,  where  he 
hoped  at  least  to  find  the  rear-guard  of  the  enemy. 

At  this  moment,  the  stillness  of  the  mist  was  broken  b}'  barbarian 
war-cries  on  every  side  ; and  both  flanks  of  the  Roman  columu  were 
assailed  at  once.  Their  right  was  overwhelmed  liy  a storm  of  jave- 
lins and  arrows,  shot  as  if  from  the  midst  of  darkness,  and  striking 
into  the  soldier’s  unguarded  side,  where  he  had  no  shield  to  cover 
him  ; while  ponderous  stones,  against  which  no  shield  or  helmet  could 
avail,  came  crashing  down  upon  their  heads.  On  the  left  were  heard 
the  trampling  of  horse,  and  the  well-known  war-cries  of  the  Gauls  ; 
and  presently  Hannibal’s  dreaded  cavalry  emerged  from  the  mist,  and 
were  in  an  instant  in  the  midst  of  their  ranks  ; and  the  huge  forms 
of  the  Gauls,  and  their  vast  broadswords,  broke  in  upon  them  at 
the  same  moment.  The  head  of  the  Roman  column — which  was 
already  ascending  to  the  higher  ground — found  its  advance  also 
barred  ; for  here  was  the  enemy  whom  they  had  so  longed  to  over- 
take : here  were  some  of  the  Spanish  and  African  foot  of  Hannibal's 
army  drawn  up  to  wait  their  assault.  The  Romans  instantly  attacked 
these  troops,  and  cut  their  way  through  ; these  must  be  the  covering 
parties,  they  thought,  of  Hannibal's  main  battle  ; and,  eager  to  bring 
the  contest  to  a decisive  issue,  they  pushed  forward  up  the  heights, 
not  doubting  that  on  the  summit  they  should  find  the  whole  force  of 
the  enemy.  And  now  they  were  on  the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  to  their 
astonishment  no  enemy  was  there  ; but  the  mist  drew  up,  and,  as 
they  looked  behind,  they  saw  too  plainly  where  Hannibal  was  ; the 
whole  valley  was  one  scene  of  carnage,  whilst  on  the  sides  of  the  hills 
above  were  the  masses  of  the  Spanish  and  African  foot  witnessing 
the  destruction  of  the  Roman  army,  which  had  scarcely  cost  them  a 
single  stroke. 

The  advanced  troops  of  the  Roman  column  had  thus  escaped  the 
slaughter  ; but,  being  too  few  to  retrieve  the  day,  they  continued  their 
advance,  which  was  now  become  a flight,  and  took  refuge  in  one  of 
the  neighboring  villages.  Meantime,  while  the  centre  of  the  army 
was  cut  to  pieces  in  the  valley,  the  rear  was  still  winding  through  the 
defile  beyond,  between  the  cliffs  and  the  lake.  But  they,  too,  were 
attacked  from  the  heights  above  by  the  Gauls,  and  forced  in  con- 
fusion into  the  water.  Some  of  the  soldiers,  in  desperation,  struck 
out  into  the  deep  water,  swimming  ; and,  weighed  down  l)y  their 


26 


LIFE  OF  HAFTKIBAL. 


armor,  presently  sank  : others  ran  in  as  far  as  was  within  their  depth, 
and  there  stood  lielpiessly,  till  the  enemy’s  cavalry  dashed  in  after 
them.  Then  they  lifted  up  their  hands,  and  cried  for  quarter  ; but, 
on  this  day  of  sacrifice,  the  gods  of  Carthage  were  not  to  be  de- 
frauded of  a single  victim  ; and  the  horsemen  pitilessly  fulfilled 
Hannibal’s  vow. 

Thus,  with  the  exception  of  the  advanced  troops  of  the  Roman  col- 
amn,  who  were  about  6000  men,  the  rest  of  the  army  were  utterly 
destroyed.  The  consul  himself  had  not  seen  the  wreck  consum- 
mated. On  finding  himself  surrounded,  he  had  vainlj'  endeavored  tc 
form  his  men  amidst  the  confusion,  and  to  offer  some  regular  resist- 
ance ; when  this  was  hopeless,  he  continued  to  do  his  duty  as  a brave 
soldier,  till  one  of  the  Gaulish  horsemen,  who  is  said  to  have  known 
him  by  sight  from  his  former  consulship,  rode  up  and  ran  him  through 
the  body  with  his  lance,  crying  out.  “ So  perish  the  man  who  slaugh- 
tered our  brethren,  and  robbed  us  of  the  lands  of  our  fathers.”  In 
these  last  words,  we  probably  rather  read  the  unquenchable  hatred 
of  the  Roman  aristocracy  to  the  author  of  an  agrarian  law.  than  the 
genuine  language  of  the  Gaul.  Flamiuius  died  bravely,  sword  in 
hand,  having  committed  no  graver  militar;y  error  than  many  an 
impetuous  soldier,  whose  death  in  his  country’s  cause  has  been 
felt  to  throw  a veil  over  his  rashness,  and  whose  memory  is 
pitied  and  honored.  The  part}'  feelings  which  have  so  colored 
the  language  of  the  ancient  writers  respecting  him,  need  not 
be  .shared  by  a modern  historian  ; Flaminius  was  indeed  an  unequal 
antagonist  to  Hannibal  ; but  in  iris  previous  life,  as  consul  and  as 
censor,  he  had  served  his  couutiy  well  : and  if  the  defile  of  Thrasy- 
menus  witnessed  his  rashness,  it  also  contains  his  honorable  grave. 

The  battle  must  iiave  been  ended  before  noou  ; and  Hannibal's  in- 
defatigable cavalry,  after  having  destroyed  the  centre  and  rear  of  the 
Roman  army,  hastened  to  pursue  the  troops  who  liad  broken  off 
from  the  front,  and  had  for  the  present  escaped  the  general  over- 
throw. They  were  supported  by  the  light-armed  foot  and  the  Span- 
iards, and  finding  the  Romans  in  the  village  to  which  they  had  re- 
treated, proceeded  to  invest  it  on  every  side.  The  Romans,  cut  off 
from  all  relief,  and  with  no  provisions,  surrendered  to  ^laharhal,  who 
commanded  the  party  sent  against  them.  They  were  brought  to 
Hannibal  ; with  the  other  prisoners  taken  in  the  battle,  the  whole 
number  amounted  to  15,000.  The  general  addressed  them  by  an  in- 
terpreter ; he  told  the  soldiers  who  had  surrendered  to  Maharbal, 
that  their  lives,  if  he  pleased,  were  still  forfeited,  for  Maharbal  had 
no  authority  to  grant  terms  without  his  consent  ; then  he  proceeded, 
with  the  vehemence  often  displayed  by  Napoleon  in  similar  circum- 
stances, to  inveigh  against  the  Roman  government  and  peoj)le,  and 
concluded  by  giviirg  all  his  Roman  prisoners  to  the  custody  of  the 
several  divisions  of  his  army.  Then  he  turned  to  the  Italian  allies  ; 
they  were  not  his  enemies,  he  said  : on  the  contrary,  he  had  invaded 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


2? 


Italy  to  aid  tliem  in  casting  olf  the  yoke  of  Rome  ; he  sliouid  still 
deal  with  them  as  he  had  treated  his  Italian  prisoners  taken  at  the 
Trebia  ; they  were  free  from  that  moment,  and  without  ransom. 
This  being  done,  lie  halted  for  a short  time  to  rest  his  army,  and 
buried  with  great  solemnity  thirty  of  the  most  distinguished  of  those 
who  had  fallen  on  his  own  side  in  the  battle.  His  ■whole  loss  had 
amounted  only  to  1.500  men,  of  whom  the  greater  part  were  Gauls.  It 
IS  said  also  that  he  caused  careful  search,  but  in  vain,  to  be  made  for 
the  body  of  the  consul,  Flamiuius,  being  anxious  to  give  him  honor- 
able burial.  So  he  acted  afterwards  to  L.  HUmilius  and  to  Marcellas  ; 
and  these  humanities  are  worthy  of  notice,  as  if  he  had  wished  to 
show  that,  though  his  vow  bound  him  to  unrelenting  enmity  towauls 
the  Romans  while  living,  it  Avas  a pleasure  to  him  to  feel  that  he 
might  lionor  them  when  dead. 

The  army  of  Hannibal  now  broke  up  from  the  scene  of  its  victory, 
and,  leaving  Perusia  uuassailed,  crossed  the  infant  stream  of  the  Ti- 
ber and  entered  upon  the  plains  of  Umbria.  Here  Mabarbal,  Avith 
the  cavalry  and  light  troops,  obtained  another  victory  over  a iKxrty 
of  some  thousand  men,  commanded  by  C.  Uentenius,  and  killed, 
took  prisoners,  or  dispersed  the  wdiole  body.  Then  that  rich  plain, 
extending  from  the  Tiber,  under  Perusia,  to  Spoletum,  at  tbe  foot  of 
the  Monte  Somma,  was  laid  waste  by  the  Carthaginians  without 
mercy.  The  white  oxen  of  the  Clitumnus,  so  often  offereil  in  sacri- 
fice to  the  gods  of  Rome  by  her  triumphant  generals,  A\"ere  now  the 
spoil  of  the  enemy,  and  were  slaughtered  on  the  altars  of  the  gods  of 
Carthage,  amidst  prayers  for  the  destruction  of  Rome.  The  left 
bank  of  the  Tiber  again  heard  the  G.iulish  A\'ar-cry  ; and  the  terri- 
fied inhabitants  fled  to  the  mountains  or  into  the  fortified  cities,  from 
this  unwonted  storm  of  barbarian  invasion.  The  figures  and  arms 
of  the  Gauls,  however  formidable,  might  be  familiar  to  many  of  I he 
Umbrians  ; but  thej^  gazed  in  wonder  on  the  slingers  from  the  Ba 
learian  islands,  on  the  hardy  Spanish  foot,  conspicuous  by  their  A\diite 
linen  coats  bordered  with  scarlet  ; on  the  regular  African  infantry, 
who  had  not  yet  exchanged  their  long  lances  and  small  shields  for 
the  long  shield  and  stabbing  sword  of  the  Roman  soldier  ; on  the 
heavy  cavalry,  so  numerous,  and  mounted  on  horses  so  superior  to 
those  of  Italy  ; above  all,  on  the  bands  of  wild  Numidians,  who  rode 
without  saddle  or  bridle,  as  if  the  rider  and  his  horse  w'ere  one  crea- 
ture, and  wfiio  scoured  over  the  country  with  a speed  and  impetuosity 
defying  escape  or  resistance.  Amidst  such  a scene,  the  colonists  of 
Spoletum  deserved  well  of  their  country,  for  shutting  their  gates 
boldly,  and  not  yielding  to  the  general  panic  ; and  Avhen  tbe  Numi- 
dian  horsemen  reined  up  their  horses,  and  turned  away  from  its 
well-manned  walls,  the  colonists,  with  an  excusable  boasting,  might 
claim  the  glory  of  having  repulsed  Hannibal. 

But  Hannibal’s  way  lay  not  over  the  Monte  Semina,  although  its 
steep  pass,  rising  immediately  behind  Spoletum,  was  the  last  natural 


28 


LIFE  OF  HANKIBAL. 


obstacle  between  him  and  Rome.  Beyond  that  pass  the  countrj-  was 
full,  not  of  Roman  colonies  merely,  but  of  Roman  citizens  ; he 
would  soon  have  entered  on  the  territory  of  the  thirty-five  Roman 
tribes,  where  every  man  whom  he  would  have  met  was  his  enemy. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  elsew'here  : the  south  was  entirelj'  open  to  him  ; 
the  way  to  Apulia  and  Samnium  was  cleared  of  every  impediment. 
He  crossed  the  Apennines  in  the  direction  of  Ancona,  and  invaded 
Picenum  ; he  then  followed  the  coast  of  the  Adriatic,  through  the 
country  of  the  Marrucinians  and  Frentanians,  till  he  arrived  in  the 
northern  pai  t of  Apulia,  in  the  country  called  b^'  the  Greeks  Daunia 
He  advanced  slowly  and  leisurely,  encamping  after  short  marches, 
and  spreading  devastation  far  and  wide  : the  plunder  of  slaves,  cat- 
tle, corn,  wine,  oil,  and  valuable  property  of  every  description,  was 
almost  more  than  the  army  could  carry  or  drive  along.  The  sol- 
diers, who,  after  their  exhausting  march  from  Spain  over  the  Alps, 
had  ever  since  been  in  active  service,  or  in  wretched  quarters,  and 
who,  from  cold  and  the  want  of  oil  for  anointing  the  skin,  had 
suffered  severely  from  scorbutic  disorders,  were  now  revelling  in 
plenty  in  a laud  of  corn  and  olives  and  vines,  where  all  good  things 
were  in  such  abundance  that  the  very  horses  of  the  army,  so  said  re- 
port, were  bathed  in  old  wdiies  to  improve  their  condition.  3Iean- 
wliile,  wherever  the  army  passed,  all  Romans,  or  Latins,  of  an  age 
to  l)ear  arms,  were,  by  Hannibal’s  express  orders,  put  to  the  sword. 
INIany  an  occupier  of  domain  land,  man}'  a farmer  of  the  taxes,  or  of 
those  multiplied  brauches  of  revenue  which  the  Roman  government 
possessed  all  over  Italy,  collectors  of  customs  and  port  duties,  sur- 
veyors and  farmers  of  the  forests,  farmers  of  the  mountain  pastures, 
farmers  of  the  salt  on  the  sea-coast,  and  of  the  mines  in  the  moun 
tains,  were  cut  off  by  the  vengeance  of  the  Carthaginians  ; and  Rome, 
having  lost  thousands  of  her  poorer  citizens  in  battle,  and  now  losing 
liundreds  of  the  richer  classes  in  this  exterminating  march,  lay  bleed- 
ing at  every  pore. 

But  her  spirit  was  invincible.  When  the  tidings  of  the  disaster  of 
Tlirasymenus  reached  the  city,  the  people  crowded  to  the  Forum, 
and  called  upon  the  magistrates  to  tell  them  the  whole  truth.  Tlie 
praetor  peregrinus,  M.  Pomponius  IMatho,  ascended  the  rostra  and  said 
to  tlic  assembled  multitude,  “ We  have  been  beaten  in  a great  battle  ; 
our  army  is  destroyed  ; and  C.  Flaminius,  the  consul,  is  killed.”  Our 
colder  temperaments  scarcely  enable  us  to  conceive  the  effect  of  such 
tidings  on  the  livel}'  feelings  of  the  people  of  the  south,  or  to  image 
to  ourselves  the  cries,  the  tears,  the  hands  uplifted  in  prayer  or 
clenched  in  rage,  the  confused  sounds  of  ten  thousand  voices,  giv- 
ing utterance  with  breathless  rapidity  to  their  feelings  of  eager  in- 
terest, of  terror,  of  grief,  or  of  fury.  All  the  northern  gates  of  the 
city  were  beset  with  crowds  of  wives  and  mothers,  imploring  every 
fresh  fugitive  from  the  fatal  field  for  some  tidings  of  those  most  dear 
to  thern.  The  praetors,  M.  ,<Emilius  and  M,  Pomponius,  kept  the  sen- 


LIFE  OF  HaNXIBAL. 


29 


lie  sitting  for  several  clays,  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  without  adjourn- 
ment, in  earnest  consultation  on  the  alarming  state  of  their  country. 

Peace  was  not  thought  of  for  a moment  ; nor  was  it  proposed  to 
withdraw  a single  soldier  from  Spain,  or  Sicily,  or  Sardinia  ; but  it 
was  resolved  that  a dictator  ought  to  be  appointed,  to  secure  unity  of 
command.  There  had  been  no  dictatorship  for  actual  service  since 
that  of  A.  Atilius  Calatinus,  two-and-thirty  years  before,  in  the  dis- 
astrous con.sulship  of  P.  Claudius  Pulcher  and  L.  Junius  Pullus. 
But  it  is  probable  that  some  jealousy  was  entertained  of  the  senate’s 
clioice,  if,  in  the  absence  of  the  consul  Cn.  Servilius,  the  appoint- 
ment, according  to  ancient  usage,  had  rested  with  them  ; nor  was  it 
thought  safe  to  leave  the  dictator  to  nominate  his  master  of  the  horse. 
Hence,  an  unusual  course  was  adopted  ; the  centuries  in  their  comi- 
iia  elected  both  the  one  and  the  other,  choosing  one  from  each  of  the 
two  parties  in  the  state  ; the  dictator,  Q.  Fabius  Maximus,  from  one 
of  the  noblest,  but  at  the  same  time  the  most  moderate  families  of  the 
aristocracy,  and  himself  a man  of  a nature  no  less  gentle  than  wise  ; 
the  master  of  the  horse,  M.  Minucius  Rufus,  as  representing  the  pop- 
ular party. 

<^.uligion  in  the  mind  of  Q.  Fabius  was  not  a mere  instrument  for 
party  purposes  ; although  he  may  have  had  little  belief  in  its  truth, 
he  was  convinced  of  its  excellence,  and  that  a reverence  for  the  gods 
was  an  essential  element  in  the  character  of  a nation,  without  which 
it  must  assuredly  degenerate.  Therefore,  on  the  very  day  that  he  en- 
tered on  his  office,  he  summoned  the  senate,  and,  dwelling  on  the 
importance  of  propitiating  the  gods,  moved  that  the  sibjdline  books 
should  forthwith  be  consulted.  Thej'^  directed,  among  other  things, 
that  the  Roman  people  should  vow  to  the  gods  what  was  called  “ a 
holy  spring” — that  is  to  say,  that  every  animal  fit  for  sacrifice  born 
in  the  spi’ing  of  that  year,  between  the  first  day  of  March  and  the 
thirtieth  of  April,  and  reared  on  any  mountain,  or  plain,  or  river-bank, 
or  upland  pasture  throughout  Italy,  should  be  offered  to  Jupiter. 
E.xtraordinary  games  were  also  vowed  to  be  celebrated  in  the  Circus 
Jlaximus  ; prayers  were  put  up  at  all  the  temples  ; new  temples  were 
vowed  to  be  built ; and  for  three  days  those  solemn  sacrifices  were 
performed,  in  w'hich  the  images  of  the  gods  were  taken  down  from 
their  temples,  and  laid  on  couches  richly  covered,  with  tables  full  of 
meat  and  wine  set  before  them,  in  the  sight  of  all  the  people,  as  if 
the  gods  could  not  but  bless  the  city  where  they  had  deigned  to  re- 
ceive hospitality. 

Then  the  dictator  turned  his  attention  to  the  state  of  the  war. 
A long  campaign  was  in  prospect ; for  it  w’as  still  so  early  in  the  sea- 
son, that  the  praetors  had  not  yet  gone  out  of  their  provinces  ; and 
Hannibal  was  already  in  the  heart  of  Italy.  All  measures  were  taken 
for  the  defence  of  the  country  ; even  the  walls  and  towers  of  Romo 
were  ordered  to  be  made  good  against  an  attack.  Bridges  were  tc 
be  broken  down  ; the  inhabitants  of  op«n  towns  were  to  withdraw 


30 


LIFE  OF  HAXJS'IBAL. 


into  places  of  security  ; and,  in  the  expected  line  of  Ilannibal'a 
match,  the  country  was  to  be  laid  waste  before  him,  the  corn  oe- 
stroyed,  and  the  houses  burnt.  This  would  probably  be  done  effec- 
tually in  the  Roman  territory  ; but  the  allies  were  not  likely  to  make 
such  extreme  sacrifices : and  this,  of  itself,  was  a reason  why  Han- 
nibal did  not  advance  directly  upon  Rome. 

More  than  thirty  thousand  men,  in  killed  and  prisoners,  had  been 
lost  to  the  Romans  in  the  late  battle.  The  consul,  Cn.  Servilius,  com- 
manded above  thirty  thousand  in  Cisalpine  Gaul  ; and  he  was  now 
retreating  in  all  hasle,  after  having  heard  of  the  total  defeat  of  his 
colleague.  Two  new  legions  were  raised,  besides  a large  force  out  of 
the  city  tribes,  which  was  employed  partlj'  for  the  defence  of  Rome 
itself,  and  partly,  as  it  consisted  largely  of  the  poorer  citizens,  for  the 
service  of  the  fleet.  This  last  indeed  was  become  a matter  of  urgent 
necessity  ; for  the  Carthaginian  fleet  was  already  on  the  Italian  coa.‘;t, 
and  had  taken  a whole  convoy  of  coin-ships,  off  Cosa,  in  Etiuria. 
carrying  supplies  to  the  army  in  Spain  ; w hilst  the  Roman  ships,  both 
in  Sicily  and  at  Ostia,  had  not  yet  been  launched  after  the  winter. 
Now  all  the  ships  at  Ostia  and  in  the  Tiber  were  sent  to  sea  in  h^ste, 
and  the  consul,  Cn  Servilius,  commanded  them  , whilst  the  dictator 
and  master  of  the  horse,  having  added  the  two  newly -laised  legions 
to  the  consul’s  army,  proceeded  through  Campania  and  Samnium  into 
Apulia,  and,  with  an  army  greatly  superior  in  numbers,  encamijed 
at  the  distance  of  about  five  or  six  miles  from  Hannibal. 

Besides  the  advantage  of  numbers,  the  Romans  had  that  of  being 
regularly  and  abundantly  supplied  with  provisions.  They  had  no 
occasion  to  scatter  their  forces  in  order  to  obtain  subsistence  ; but, 
keeping  their  army  together,  and  exirosing  no  weak  point  to  fortune, 
they  followed  Hannibal  at  a certain  distance,  watched  their  oppor- 
tunity to  cut  off  his  detached  parties,  and  above  all,  by  remaining  in 
the  field  with  so  imposing  an  army%  overawed  the  allies,  and  checked 
their  disposition  to  revolt.  Thus  Hannibal,  finding  that  the  Apulians 
did  not  join  him,  recrossed  the  Apennines,  and  moved  tlirough  the 
country  of  the  Hirpiuians,  into  that  of  the  Caudinian  Samnites.  But 
Beneventum,  once  a great  Samnite  city,  was  now  a Latin  colony  ; 
and  its  gates  were  close  shut  against  the  invader.  Hannibal  laid 
waste  its  territorj'  with  fire  and  sword,  then  moved  downw  ards  under 
the  south  side  of  the  Matese,  and  took  possession  of  Telesia,  the  na- 
tive city  of  C.  Pontius,  but  now  a decayed  and  defenceless  town  : 
thence  descending  the  Calor  to  its  junction  with  the  Vulturnus,  and 
ascending  the  Vulturnus  till  he  found  it  easily'  fordable,  he  finally 
crossed  it  near  Allifse,  and  passing  over  the  hills  behind  Calatia,  de- 
scended by  Gales  into  the  midst  of  the  Falernian  plain,  the  glory  of 
Campania. 

Fabius  steadily  followed  him,  not  descending  into  the  pilain,  but 
keeping  his  amry  on  the  hills  above  it,  and  watching  all  his  move- 
ments. Again  the  Numidian  cavalry  were  seen  scouring  the  country 


LIFE  OF  HAISriaBAL. 


31 


on  every  side  ; and  the  smoke  of  burning  liouses  marked  their  track. 
The  soldiers  in  the  Roman  army  beheld  the  sight  with  the  greatest 
impatience  : tliey  were  burning  for  battle,  and  the  master  of  the 
horse  himself  shared  and  encouraged  tlie  general  feeling.  But  Fa 
bins  was  firm  in  his  resolution  ; he  sent  parties  to  secure  even  the 
pass  of  Tarraciua,  lest  Hannibal  should  attempt  to  advance  by  the 
Appian  road  upon  Rome  ; he  garrisoned  Casilinum,  on  the  enemy’s 
rear  ; the  Vulturnus,  from  Casilinum  to  the  sea,  barred  all  retreat 
southwards  ; the  colony  of  Cates  stopped  the  outlet  from  the  plain  by 
the  Latin  road  ; while  from  Cales  to  Casilinum  the  hills  formed  an 
unbroken  barrier,  steep  and  wooded,  the  few  paths  over  which  were 
already  secured  by  Roman  soldiers.  Thus  Fabius  thought  that  Han= 
nibal  was  caught  as  in  a pitfall  ; that  his  escape  was  cut  off,  whilst 
his  army,  having  soon  wasted  its  plunder,  could  not  possibly  winter 
where  it  was,  without  magazines,  and  without  a single  town  in  its  pos- 
session. For  himself,  he  had  all  the  resources  of  Campania  and  Sam- 
nium  on  his  rear  ; whilst  on  his  right,  the  Latin  road,  secured  by  the 
colonies  of  Cales,  Casinum,  and  Fregellse,  kept  his  communications 
with  Rome  open. 

Hannibal,  on  his  part,  had  no  thought  of  wintering  where  he  was  ; 
but  he  had  carefully  husbanded  his  plunder,  that  it  might  supply  his 
winter  consumption,  so  that  it  was  important  to  him  to  carry  it  oH  in 
safety.  He  had  taken  many  thousand  cattle  ; and  his  army  besides 
was  encumbered  with  its  numerous  prisoners,  over  and  above  the 
corn,  wine,  oil,  and  other  articles,  which  had  been  furnished  by  the 
ravage  of  one  of  the  richest  districts  in  Italy.  Finding  that  the 
passes  in  the  hills  between  Cales  and  the  Vulturnus  were  occupied  by 
the  enemy,  he  began  to  consider  how  he  could  surprise  or  force  his 
passage  without  abandoning  any  of  his  plunder.  Fie  first  thought  of 
his  numerous  prisoners  ; and  dreading  lest  in  a night  march  they 
should  either  escape  or  overpower  their  guards  and  join  their  coun- 
trymen in  attacking  him,  he  commanded  them  all,  to  the  number,  it 
is  said,  of  5000  men,  to  be  put  to  the  sword.  Then  he  ordered  2000 
of  the  stoutest  oxen  to  be  selected  from  the  plundered  cattle,  and 
pieces  of  split  pine  wood,  or  dry  vine  wood,  to  be  fastened  to  their 
horns.  About  two  hours  before  midnight  the  drovers  began  to  drive 
them  straight  to  the  hills,  having  first  set  on  fire  the  bundles  of  wood 
about  their  heads  ; whilst  the  light  infantry  following  them  till  they 
began  to  run  wild,  then  made  their  own  way  to  the  hills,  scouring 
the  points  just  above  the  pass  occupied  by  the  enemy.  Hannibal 
then  commenced  his  march  ; his  African  infantry  led  the  way,  fol- 
lowed by  the  c.avalry  ; then  came  all  the  baggage  ; and  the  rear  was 
covered  by  the  Spaniards  and  Gauls.  In  this  order  he  followed  the 
road  in  the  defile,  by  which  he  was  to  get  out  into  the  upper  valley  of 
the  Vulturnus,  above  Casilinum  and  the  enemy’s  army. 

He  found  the  way  quite  clear  ; for  the  Romans  who  had  guarded 
it,  seeing  the  hills  above  them  illuminated  on  a sudden  with  a multi- 


33 


LIFE  OF  HAFfXIBAL. 


tude  of  moving  lights,  and  nothing  doubting  that  Ilannibars  army 
was  attempting  to  break  out  over  the  hills  in  despair  of  forcing  the 
road,  quitted  their  position  in  haste,  and  ran  towards  the  heights  to 
interrupt  or  embarrass  his  retreat.  Meanwhile  Fabius,  with  his  main 
army,  confounded  at  the  strangeness  of  the  sight,  and  dreading  lest 
Hannibal  was  tempting  him  to  his  ruin  as  he  had  tempted  Flaminius 
kept  close  within  his  camp  until  the  morning.  Daj'  dawned  only  to 
show  liiin  his  own  troops,  who  had  been  set  to  occupy  the  defile,  en- 
gaged on  the  hills  aljove  with  Ilannibars  light  infantry.  But  pres- 
ently the  Spanish  foot  were  seen  scaling  the  heights  to  reinforce  the 
enemy  ; and  the  Romans  were  driven  down  to  the  plain  with  great 
loss  and  confusion  ; while  the  Spaniards  and  the  light  troop.s,  having 
thoroughly  done  their-  work,  disappeared  behind  the  hills,  and  fol- 
lowed their  main  army.  Thus  completely  successful,  and  leaving 
his  shamed  and  baflled  cneni}’’  behind  him,  Hannibal  no  longer 
tliought  of  returning  to  Airulia  by  the  most  direct  road,  but  resolved 
to  extend  his  devastations  still  farther  before  the  season  ended.  He 
mounted  the  valley  of  the  Yulturnus  towards  Yenafrum,  marched 
from  thence  into  Samnium,  crossed  the  Apennines,  and  descended 
into  the  rich  Pelignian  plain  by  Sulmo,  which  yielded  him  an  ample 
harvest  of  plunder  ; and  thence  retracing  his  steps  into  Samnium,  he 
finally  returned  to  the  neighborhood  of  his  old  quarters  in  Apulia. 

The  summer  was  far  advanced  ; Hannibal  had  overrun  the  greater 
part  of  Italy  : the  meadows  of  the  Clitumnus  and  the  Yulturnus,  and 
the  forest  glades  of  the  high  Apennines,  had  alike  seen  their  cattle 
driven  away  by  the  invading  army;  the  Falernian  plain  and  the  plain  of 
Sulmo  had  alike  yielded  their  tribute  of  wine  and  oil  ; but  not  a single 
city  had  as  yet  opened  its  gates  to  the  conqueror,  not  a single  state  of 
Samnium  j^ad  tvclcomed  him  as  its  champion,  under  wliom  it  might 
revenge  its  old  wrongs  against  Rome.  Everywhere  the  aristocrali- 
cal  party  had  maintained  its  ascendency,  and  had  repressed  all  men- 
tion of  revolt  from  Rome.  Hannibal’s  great  experiment  therefore 
had  hitherto  failed.  He  knew  that  his  single  army  could  not  con- 
quer Italy  ; as  easily  might  King  'William’s  Dutch  guards  have  con- 
(piered  England  : and  six  mouths  had  brought  Hannibal  no  fairer 
prospect  of  aid  within  the  countr}-  itself  than  the  first  week  after  his 
lauding  in  Torbay  brought  to  King  William.  But  among  Hannibal’s 
greatest  qualities  wuts  the  patience  with  rvliich  he  knew  how  to  abide 
his  time  ; if  one  campaign  had  failed  of  its  main  object,  another  must 
be  tried  ; if  the  fidelity  of  the  Roman  allies  had  been  unshaken  by 
the  disaster  of  Thrasymenus,  it  must  be  tried  by  a defeat  yet  mote 
fatal.  Meantime  he  would  take  undisputed  possession  of  the  best 
winter  quarters  in  Italy  ; his  men  would  be  plentifully  fed  : his  in- 
valuable cavalry  would  have  forage  in  abundance  ; and  this  at  no 
cost  to  Cartilage,  but  wholly-  at  the  expense  of  the  enemy.  The  point 
which  he  fixed  upon  to  winter  at  was  the  very  edge  of  the  Apulian 
plain,  -vhere  it  joins  the  mountains  : on  one  side  was  a boundless  ex 


LIFE  OF  HAKFTIBAL. 


33 


panse  of  corn,  intermixed  with  open  grass  land,  l)urnt  up  in  summer, 
but  in  winter  fresh  and  green  ; whilst  on  the  other  side  were  the 
wide  pastures  of  the  mouutaiu  forests,  where  his  numerous  cattlg 
might  be  turned  out  till  the  first  snows  of  autumn  fell.  These  were 
as  yet  far  distant  ; for  the  corn  in  the  plain  although  ripe,  was  still 
standing  ; and  the  rich  harvests  of  Apulia  were  to  be  gathered  this 
year  by  unwonted  reapers. 

Descending  from  Samnium,  Hannibal  accordingly  appeared  before 
ihe  little  town  of  Geronium,  which  was  situated  somewhat  more  than 
twenty  miles  northwest  of  the  Latin  colony  of  Luceria,in  the  imme 
diate  neighborhood  of  Lariuum.  The  town,  refusing  to  surrender,  was 
taken,  and  the  inhabitants  put  to  the  sword  ; but  the  houses  and  walls 
were  left  standing,  to  serve  as  a great  magazine  fur  the  army  ; and 
the  soldiers  were  quartered  in  a regularly  fortified  camp  wiihout  the 
town.  Hero  Hannibal  posted  himself  ; and  keeping  a third  part  of  his 
men  under  arms  to  guard  the  camp  and  to  cover  his  foragers,  he  sent 
out  the  other  two  thirds  to  gather  in  all  the  corn  of  the  surrounding 
country,  or  to  pasture  his  cattle  on  the  adjoining  mountains.  In  this 
manner  the  store-houses  of  Geronium  were  in  a short  time  filled  with 
corn. 

Meanwhile  the  public  mind  at  Rome  was  strongly  excited  against 
the  dictator.  He  seemed  like  a man  who,  having  played  a cautious 
game,  at  last  makes  a false  move,  and  is  beaten  ; his  slow,  defensive 
system,  unwelcome  in  itself,  seemed  rendered  contemptible  by  Han- 
nibal’s triumphant  escape  from  the  Falerniau  plain.  But  here,  too, 
Fabius  showed  a patience  worthy  of  all  honor.  Vexed  as  he  must 
have  been  at  his  failure  in  Campania,  he  still  felt  sure  that  his  S3^s- 
tem  was  wise  ; and  again  he  followed  Hannibal  into  Apulia,  and  en- 
camped as  before  in  the  high  grounds  in  his  neighborhood.  Certain 
I'cligious  otlices  called  him  at  this  time  to  Rome  ; but  he  charged 
Miuucius  to  observe  his  system  strictly,  and  on  no  account  to  risk  a 
battle. 

The  master  of  the  horse  conducted  his  operations  wisely  : he  ad- 
vanced his  camp  to  a projecting  ridge  of  liilis,  immediatel}"  above  the 
plain,  and,  sending  out  his  cavalry  and  light  troops  to  cut  off  Hanni- 
hal’s  foragers,  obliged  the  enemy  to  increase  his  covering  force,  and 
to  restrict  the  range  of  his  harvesting.  On  one  occasion  he  cut  off  a 
great  number  of  the  foragers,  and  even  advanced  to  attack  Ilanuibal’s 
camp,  which,  owing  to  the  necessity  of  detaching  so  mauj^  men  al 
over  the  country,  was  left  with  a very  inferior  force  to  defend  it. 
The  return  of  some  of  the  foraging  parties  obliged  the  Romans  to  re- 
treat ; but  Minucius  was  greatly  elated,  and  sent  home  very  encour- 
aging reports  of  his  success. 

The  feeling  against  Fabius  could  n^  longer  be  restrained.  Minu- 
cius had  known  how  to  manage  his  system  more  ably  than  he  had 
done  himself  , such  merit  at.  such  a crisis  deserved  to  be  rewarded  ,• 
nor  was  it  fit  that  the  popular  party  should  continue  to  be  deprived 


34 


LIFE  OF  HAUHIBAL. 


of  its  share  in  the  conduct  of  the  war.  Even  among  his  own  party 
Fabius  was  not  universally  popular  : he  had  magnified  himself  and 
his  system  somewhat  offensively,  and  had  spoken  too  harshly  of  the 
blunders  of  former  generals.  Thus  it  does  not  appear  that  the  aris- 
tocracy offered  any  strong  resistance  to  a bill  brought  forward  by  the 
tribune  M.  Metilius,  for  giving  the  master  of  the  horse  power  equal 
to  the  dictator’s.  The  bill  was  strongly  supported  by  C.  Terentius 
VaiTO,  who  had  been  prattor  in  the  preceding  year,  and  was  easily 
carried. 

The  dictator  and  master  of  the  horse  now  divided  the  army  be- 
tween them,  and  encamped  apart,  at  more  than  a mile’s  distance 
from  each  other.  Their  want  of  co-operation  was  thus  notorious  ; 
and  Hannibal  was  not  slow  to  profit  by  it.  He  succeeded  in  tempt- 
ing Minucius  to  an  engagement  on  his  own  ground  ; and  having 
concealed  about  5000  men  in  some  ravines  and  hollows  close  by,  he 
called  them  forth  in  the  midst  of  the  action  to  fall  on  the  enemy’s 
rear.  The  rout  of  the  Trebia  was  well-nigh  repeated  ; but  Fabius 
was  neai'  enough  to  come  up  in  time  to  the  rescue  ; and  liis  fresh 
Kgious  checked  the  pursuit  of  the  conquerors  and  enabled  the  bro- 
ken Romans  to  rally.  Still  the  loss  alread3"  sustained  was  severe  ; 
and  it  was  manifest  that  Fabius  had  saved  his  colleague  from  total 
destruction.  Minucius  acknowledged  this  generously  : he  instanllj' 
gave  up  his  equal  and  sepaiate  comuiand,  and  placed  himself  and 
his  army  under  the  dictator’s  orders.  The  rest  of  the  season 
passed  quietly  ; and  the  dictator  and  master  of  the  horse  resign- 
ing their  offices  as  usual  at  the  end  of  six  months,  the  arm}'  during 
the  winter  was  put  under  the  command  of  the  consuls  ; Cu.  Servilius 
having  brought  home  and  laid  up  the  fleet,  w’hich  he  had  commanded 
during  the  summer,  and  M.  Atilitis  Rcgulus  having  been  elected  to 
fill  the  place  of  Flamiuius. 

Meanwhile  the  elections  for  the  following  year  were  approaching  ; 
and  it  W’as  evident  that  the}'  would  be  marked  by  severe  party  strug 
gles.  The  mass  of  the  Roman  people  were  impatient  of  the  continu 
ance  of  the  ivar  in  Ital}'  ; not  only  the  poorer  citizens,  whom  it 
obliged  to  constant  military  service  through  the  winter,  and  with  no 
prospect  of  plunder,  but  still  more  perhaps  the  moneyed  classes, 
whose  occupation  as  farmers  of  the  revenue  was  so  great!}’  curtailed 
by  Hannibal’s  army.  Again,  the  occupiers  of  domain  lands  in  re- 
mote parts  of  Italy  could  get  no  returns  from  their  properly  ; the 
wealthy  graziers,  who  fed  their  cattle  on  the  domain  pastures,  saw 
their  stock  carried  off  to  furnish  winter  provisions  for  the  enemy. 
Besides,  if  Hannibal  were  allowed  to  be  unassailable  in  the  field,  the 
allies,  sooner  or  later,  must  be  expected  to  join  him  ; they  would  not 
sacrifice  everything  for  Rome,  if  Rome  could  neither  protect  them 
nor  herself.  The  excellence  of  the  Roman  infantry  was  undisputed  . 
if  with  equal  numbers  they  could  not  conquer  Hannibal’s  veterans, 
let  their  numbers  be  increased,  and  they  must  overwhelm  him. 


iIPE  OF  HAFTFriBAL, 


36 


These  were  no  doubt  the  feelings  of  many  of  the  nobility  themselves, 
as  well  as  of  the  majority  of  the  people  ; but  they  were  embittered 
by  party  animosity  : the  aristocracy,  it  was  said,  seemed  bent  on 
throwing  reproach  on  all  generals  of  llie  popular  party,  as  if  none  but 
themselves  were  fit  to  conduct  the  war  ; Minucius  himself  had 
yielded  to  this  spirit  by  submitting  to  be  commauded  by  Fabius, 
when  the  law  had  made  him  his  equal  : one  consul  at  least  must  be 
chosen,  wdio  would  act  firml}’’  for  himself  and  for  the  people  ; and 
such  a man,  to  whose  merits  the  bitter  hatred  of  the  aristocraticai 
party  bore  the  best  testimony,  was  to  be  found  in  C.  Terentius 
Varro. 

Varro,  his  enemies  said,  was  a butcher’s  son  ; nay,  it  was  added 
that  he  had  himself  been  a butcher’s  boy,  and  had  only  been 
enabled  by  the  fortune  whicli  his  father  had  left  him  to  throw 
aside  his  ignoble  calling,  and  to  aspire  to  public  offices.  So  Crom- 
well was  called  a brewer  : but  Varro  had  been  successively  elected 
qutestor,  plebeian,  and  curule,  tedile,  and  praetor,  whilst  w^e  are 
not  told  that  he  was  ever  tribune  ; and  it  is  without  example  in 
Roman  history,  that  a mere  demagogue,  of  no  family,  with  no  other 
merits,  civil  or  military,  should  be  raised  to  such  nobility.  Varro 
was  eloquent,  it  is  true  ; but  eloquence  alone  would  scarcely  have  so 
recommended  him  ; and  if  in  his  prsetorship,  as  is  probable,  he  liad 
been  one  of  the  two  home  prfetors,  he  must  have  possessed  a compe- 
tent knowledge  of  lawc  Besides,  even  after  his  defeat  at  Cannae,  he 
was  employed  for  several  years  in  various  important  offices,  civil  and 
niilitarj^ ; which  would  never  have  been  the  case  had  he  been  the 
mere  factious  braggart  that  historians  have  painted  him.  The  aris- 
tocracy tried  in  vain  to  prevent  his  election  ; he  was  not  only  re- 
turned consul,  but  he  was  returned  alone,  no  other  candidate  obtain- 
ing a sufficient  number  of  votes  to  entitle  him  to  the  suffrage  of  a 
tribe.  Thus  he  held  the  comitia  for  the  election  of  his  colleague  ; 
and  considering  the  great  influence  exercised  by  the  magistrate  so 
presiding,  it  is  creditable  to  him,  and  to  the  temper  of  the  people  gen- 
erally, that  the  other  consul  chosen  was  L.  ^milius  Paullus,  who  was 
not  only  a known  partisan  of  the  aristocracy,  but  having  been  consul 
three  yeai's  Ijefore,  had  been  brought  to  trial  for  an  alleged  misap- 
propriation of  the  plunder  taken  in  the  Illyrian  war,  and,  although 
acquitted,  was  one  of  the  most  unpopular  men  in  Rome.  Yet  he  was 
known  to  be  a good  soldier  ; and  the  people,  having  obtained  the 
election  of  Varro,  did  not  object  to  gratify  the  aristocracy  by  accept- 
ing the  candidate  of  their  choice. 

No  less  moderate  and  impartial  was  the  temper  shown  in  the  elec- 
tions of  praetors.  Two  of  the  four  were  decidedly  of  the  aristocrati- 
cai party,  M.  Marcellos  and  L.  Postumius  Albinos  ; the  other  two 
were  also  men  of  consular  rank,  and  no  way  known  as  opponents  of 
the  nobility,  P.  Purius  Philus  and  M.  Pomponius  Matho.  The  two 
latter  were  to  have  the  home  prsetorships  ; Marcellos  was  to  com. 

AB.— w 


36 


LIFE  OF  HAFTKIBAE. 


mand  the  fleet,  and  take  charge  of  the  southern  coast  of  Italy  ; L. 
Postumius  was  to  watch  the  frontier  of  Cisalpine  Gaul. 

The  winter  and  spring  passed  without  any  militar}'  events  of  im- 
portance. Servilius  and  Regiflus  retained  their  command  as  procon- 
suls for  some  time  after  their  successors  had  come  into  oflice  ; but 
notijing  beyond  occasional  skirmishes  took  place  between  them  and 
the  enemy.  Hannibal  was  at  Geronium,  maintaining  his  armj'  on  the 
supplies  which  he  had  so  carefully  collected  in  the  preceding  cam- 
paign : the  consuls  apparently  were  posted  a little  to  the  southwp.d, 
receiving  their  supplies  from  the  country  about  Canusium,  and  im- 
mediately from  a large  magazine  which  they  had  established  at  the 
small  town  of  Cannae,  near  the  Aufldus. 

Never  was  Hannibal’s  genius  more  displaj’ed  than  during  this 
long  period  of  inactivity.  More  than  half  of  his  army  consisted  of 
Gauls,  of  all  barbarians  the  most  impatient  and  uncertain  in  their  hu- 
mor, whose  fidelity,  it  is  said,  could  only  be  secured  by  an  ever-open 
hand  ; no  man  was  their  fih.nd  any  longer  than  he  could  gorge  them 
tvitli  pay  or  plunder.  Those  of  his  soldiers  who  were  not  Gauls  were 
Bither  Spaniards  or  Africans  ; the  Spaniards  were  the  newl3’-con- 
quered  subjects  of  Carthage,  strangers  to  her  race  and  language,  and 
accustomed  to  divide  their  lives  between  actual  battle  and  the 
most  listless  bodily  indolence  ; so  that,  when  one  of  their  tribes 
first  saw  the  habits  of  a Roman  camp,  and  observed  the  cen- 
turions walking  up  and  dorvn  before  the  piaetorium  for  exercise, 
the  Spaniards  thought  them  mad,  and  ran  up  to  guide  them  to 
their  tents,  thinking  that  he  who  was  not  fighting  could  do  noth- 
ing but  lie  at  his  ease  and  enjoy  himself.  Even  the  Africans 
were  foreigners  to  Carthage  ; thej"^  were  subjects  harshl3'  governed, 
and  had  been  engaged  within  the  last  twenty  .years  in  a war  of 
extermination  with  their  masters.  Yet  the  long  iuactivit3'  of  win- 
ter quarters,  trying  to  the  discipline  of  the  best  national  armies, 
was  borne  patiently  by  Hannibal’s  soldiers  : there  was  neither  deser- 
tion nor  mutiny  amongst  them  ; even  the  fickleness  of  the  Gauls 
seemed  spellbound  ; they  remained  steadil3"  in  their  camp  in  -Apulia, 
neither  going  home  to  their  own  countr3%  nor  over  U>  the  enem3'. 
On  the  contrar3',  it  seems  that  fresh  bands  of  Gauls  must  have  joined 
the  Carthaginian  arm3'  after  the  battle  of  Thras3’menus,  and  the  re- 
treat of  the  Roman  arm3^  from  Ariminum.  For  the  Gauls  and  the 
Spaniards  and  the  -Africans  were  overpowered  by  the  ascendency  of 
Hannibal’s  character  : under  his  guidance  they  felt  themselves  in- 
vincible : with  such  a general  the  3mke  of  Carthage  might  seem  to 
the  Africans  and  Spaniards  the  natural  dominion  of  superior  beings  ; 
in  such  a champion  the  Gauls  beheld  the  appointed  instrument  of 
their  country’s  gods  to  lead  them  once  more  to  assault  the  capital. 

Silanus,  the  Greek  historian,  was  living  with  Hanniltal  dail3'  ; and 
though  not  in.,rusted  with  his  militar3’  and  political  secrets,  he  must 
l»ave  seen  and  known  lum  as  a man  ; he  must  have  been  familiar  with 


LIFE  OF  HAFTKIBAL. 


3' 


his  habits  of  life,  and  must  have  heard  his  conversation  in  those  un- 
restrained moments  when  the  lightest  words  of  great  men  display  the 
character  of  their  minds  so  strikingly.  His  work  is  lost  to  us  ; but 
had  it  been  worthy  of  his  opportunities,  anecdotes  from  it  must  have 
been  quoted  by  other  writers,  and  we  should  know  what  Hannibai 
was.  Then,  too,  the  generals  who  were  his  daily  companions  would 
be  something  more  to  us  than  names  : we  should  know  Maharbal, 
the  best  cavalry  officer  of  the  finest  cavalry  service  in  the  world  ; 
,and  Hasdrubal,  who  managed  the  commissariat  of  the  army  for  so 
many  years  in  an  enemy’s  country  ; and  Hannibal's  jmimg  brother, 
Mago,  so  full  of  youthful  spirit  and  enterprise,  who  commanded  the 
ambush  at  the  battle  of  the  Trebia.  We  might  learn  something  too 
of  that  Hannibal,  surnamed  the  Fighter,  who  was  the  general’s  coun- 
sellor, ever  prompting  him,  it  was  said,  to  deeds  of  savage  cruelty, 
but  whose  counsels  Hannibal  would  not  have  listened  to,  had  they 
been  merely  cruel,  had  they  not  breathed  a spirit  of  deep  devotion  to 
the  cause  of  Carthage,  and  of  deadly  hatred  to  Rome,  such  as  pos- 
sessed the  heart  of  Hannibal  himself.  But  Silanus  saw  ,-^d  heard 
without  heeding  or  recording  ; and  on  the  tent  and  camp  of  Hanni- 
bal there  hangs  a veil,  which  the  fancy  of  the  poet  may  penetrate  ; 
but  the  historian  turns  away  in  deep  disappointment  ; for  to  him  it 
yields  neither  sight  nor  sound. 

Spring  was  come,  and  well-nigh  departing  ; and  in  the  warm 
P'lains  of  Apulia  the  corn  was  ripening  fast,  while  Hannibal’s  winter 
supplies  were  now  uearl}^  exhausted.  He  broke  up  from  his  camp 
before  Geronium.  descended  into  the  Apulian  plains,  and  whilst  the 
Roman  armj’’  was  still  in  its  winter  position,  he  thi’ew  himself  on  its 
rear,  and  surprised  its  great  magazine  at  CanniE.  The  citadel  of 
Caunin  was  a fortress  of  some  strength  ; this  accordingly  he  occu- 
pied, and  placed  himself,  on  the  very  eve  of  harvest,  between  the 
Roman  army  and  its  expected  resources,  whilst  he  secured  to  himself 
all  the  corn  of  southern  Apulia.  It  was  onl}’^  in  such  low  and  w^arm 
situations  that  the  corn  was  nearly  ready  ; the  higher  country,  m the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  Apulia,  is  cold  and  backward  ; and  the 
Romans  were  under  the  necessity  of  receiving  their  supplies  from  a 
great  distance,  or  else  of  retreating,  or  of  offering  battle.  Under 
these  circumstances  the  proconsuls  sent  to  Rome,  to  ask  what  they 
were  to  do. 

The  turning-point  of  this  question  lay  in  the  disposition  of  the  allies. 
We  cannot  doubt  that  Hannibal  had  been  busy  during  the  winter  in 
sounding  their  feelings  ; and  now  it  appeared  that,  if  Italy  was  to  be 
ravaged  by  the  enemy  for  a second  summer,  without  resistance,  their 
patience  would  endure  no  longer.  The  Roman  government,  there, 
fore,  resolved  to  risK  a battle  ; but  they  sent  orders  to  the  proconsuls 
to  wait  till  the  consuls  should  join  them  with  their  newly-raised 
army  •,  for  a battle  being  resolved  upon,  the  senate  hoped  to  secure 
success  by  an  overwhelming  superiority  of  numbers.  We  do  not 


38 


LIFE  CF  HAKKIBaL. 


exactly  know  the  proportion  of  the  new  levies  to  the  old  soldiers ; 
but  when  the  two  consuls  arrived  on  the  scene  of  action,  and  took 
the  supreme  command  of  the  whole  arm}%  there  were  no  fewer  than 
eight  Roman  legions  under  their  orders,  with  an  equal  force  of  allies  ; 
so  that  the  army  opposed  to  Hannibal  must  have  amounted  to  90,000 
men.  It  was  evident  that  so  great  a multitude  could  not  long  be  fed 
at  a distance  from  its  resources  ; and  thus  a speedy  engagement  was 
inevitable. 

But  the  details  of  the  movements,  by  which  the  two  armies  were 
brought  in  presence  of  each  other,  on  the  banks  of  the  Aufidus,  are 
not  easy  to  discover.  It  appears  that  the  Romans,  till  the  arrival  of 
the  new  consuls,  had  not  ventured  to  follow  Hannibal  closely  ; for, 
when  they  did  follow  him,  it  took  them  two  days’  march  to  arrive  in 
his  neighborhood,  where  they  encamped  at  about  six  miles’  distance 
from  him.  They  found  him  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Aufidus,  about 
eight  or  nine  miles  from  the  sea,  and  busied,  probably,  in’collecting 
the  corn  from  the  earl}^  district  on  the  coast,  the  season  being  about 
the  middle  of  June.  The  country  here  was  so  level  and  open,  that 
the  consul,  L.  ^milius,  was  unwilling  to  approach  the  enemy  more 
closely,  but  wished  to  take  a position  on  the  hillj^  ground  farther 
from  the  sea,  and  to  bring  on  the  action  there.  But  Yarro,  impatient 
for  battle,  and  having  tlie  supreme  command  of  the  whole  army, 
alternately  with  iEmilius  every  other  dajq  decided  the  question 
irrevocably  on  the  ver}'  next  day,  by^  interposing  himself  between  the 
enemy  and  the  sea,  with  his  left  resting  on  the  Aufidus,  and  his  right 
communicating  with  the  town  of  Salapia. 

From  this  ]>osition  ^milius,  when  he  again  took  the  command  in 
chief,  found  it  impossible  to  withdraw.  But  availing  himself  of  his 
great  superiority  in  numbers,  he  threw  a part  of  his  army  across  the 
river,  and  posted  them  in  a separate  camp  on  the  right  Irank,  to  have 
the  supplies  of  the  country,  south  of  the  Aufidus,  at  command,  and  to 
restrain  the  enemy’s  parties  who  might  attempt  to  forage  in  that  di- 
rection. When  Hannibal  saw  the  Romans  in  this  situation,  he  also 
advanced  nearer  to  them,  descending  the  left  bank  of  the  Aufidus, 
and  encamped  over  against  the  main  army  Of  the  enemy,  with  his 
right  resting  on  the  river. 

The  next  day,  which,  according  to  the  Roman  calendar,  was  the 
last  of  the  month  Quinctilis,  or  July,  the  Roman  reckoning  being  six 
or  seven  weeks  in  advance  of  the  true  season,  Hannibal  was  making 
his  preparations  for  battle,  and  did  not  stir  from  his  camp  ; so  that 
Varro,  whose  command  it  was,  could  not  bring  on  an  action.  But  on  the 
1st  of  Sextilis,  or  August,  Hannibal,  being  now  quite  ready,  drew  out 
his  army  in  front  of  his  camp,  and  offered  battle.  -^Imilius,  however, 
remained  quiet,  resolved  not  to  tight  on  such  ground,  and  hoping  that 
Hannibal  would  soon  be  obliged  to  fall  back  nearer  the  hills,  when  he 
found  that  he  could  no  longer  forage  freely  in  the  country'  near  the 
sea.  Hannibal,  seeing  that  the  enemy  did'not  move,  marched  back 


LIFE  OF  HANFTIBAL. 


39 


his  infantiy  into  his  camp,  but  sent  his  Numidian  cavalry  across  the 
river  to  attack  the  Romans  on  ttiat  side,  as  they  were  coming  down 
in  straggling  parties  to  the  bank  to  get  water.  For  the  Aufidus, 
though  its  bed  is  deep  and  Avide  to  hold  its  winter  floods,  is  a shallow 
or  a narrow  stream  in  summer,  with  many  points  easily  fordable, 
not  by  horse  only,  but  by  infantry.  The  watering  parties  were  driven 
in  with  some  loss,  and  the  Numidians  followed  them  to  the  very 
gates  of  the  camp,  aud  obliged  the  Romans,  on  the  right  bank,  to 
pass  the  summer  night  in  the  burning  Apulian  plain  without  water. 

At  daybreak  on  the  ne.xt  morning,  the  red  ensign,  which  was  the 
well-known  signal  for  battle,  was  seen  flying  over  Varro’s  head- 
quarters ; and  he  issued  orders,  it  being  his  da}’’  of  command,  for 
the  main  army  to  cross  the  river,  and  form  in  order  of  battle  on  the 
right  bank.  Whether  he  had  any  further  object  in  crossing  to  the 
right  bank,  than  to  enable  the  soldiers  on  tliat  side  to  get  water  in 
security,  we  do  not  know  ; but  Hannibal,  it  seems,  thought  that  the 
ground  ob  either  bank  suited  him  equally  ; and  he,  too,  forded  the 
stream  at  two  separate  points,  and  drew  out  his  army  opposite  to  the 
enemy.  The  strong  town  of  Canusium  was  scarcely  three  miles  oft 
in  his  rear  ; he  had  left  his  camp  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  ; if  he 
were  defeated,  escape  seemed  hopeless.  But  when  he  saw  the  wide 
open  plain  around  him,  and  looked  at  his  numerous  and  irresistible 
cavalry,  and  knew  that  his  infantry,  however  inferior  in  numbei'S, 
were  far  better  and  older  soldiers  than  the  great  mass  of  their  oppo- 
nents, he  felt  that  defeat  was  impossible.  In  this  confidence  his 
spirits  were  not  cheerful  merely,  but  even  mirthful ; he  rallied  one  of 
his  officers  jestingly,  who  noticed  the  overwhelming  numbers  of  the 
Romans  ; those  near  him  laughed  ,•  and  as  any  feeling  at  such  a mo- 
ment is  contagious,  the  laugh  was  echoed  by  others  ; and  the  sol- 
diers, seeing  their  great  general  in  such  a mood,  were  satisfied  that 
he  was  sure  of  victory. 

The  Carthaginian  army  faced  the  north,  so  that  the  early  sun  shone 
on  their  right  flank,  while  the  wind,  which  blew  strong  from  the 
south,  but  Avithout  a drop  of  rain,  swept  its  clouds  of  dust  over  their 
backs,  and  carried  them  full  into  the  faces  of  the  enemy.  On  their 
left,  resting  on  the  river,  were  the  Spanish  and  Gaulish  horse  ; next 
in  the  line,  but  thrown  back  a little,  were  half  of  the  African  infantry 
armed  like  the  Romans  ; on  their  right,  someAvhat  in  advance,  were 
the  Gauls  and  Spaniards,  with  their  companies  intermixed  ; then 
came  the  rest  of  the  African  foot,  again  thrown  back  like  their  com- 
rades ; and  on  the  right  of  the  Avhole  line  were  the  Numidian  light 
horsemen.  The  right  of  the  army  rested,  so  far  as  appears,  on  noth- 
ing ; the  ground  was  open  and  level ; but  at  some  distance  were  hills 
overgrown  with  copseAVOod,  and  furrowed  witli  deep  ravines,  in 
which,  according  to  one  account  of  the  battle,  a body  cf  horsemen 
and  of  light  infantry  lay  in  ambush.  The  rest  of  the  light  troops,  and 
the  Balearian  slingers,  skirmished  as  usual  in  front  of  the  whole  line. 


40 


LIFE  OF  HAFTIIIBAL. 


Meanwhile  the  masses  of  the  Roman  infantry  were  forming  theii 
line  opposite.  The  sun  on  their  left  flashed  obliquely  on  their  brazen 
helmets,  now  uncovered  for  battle,  and  lit  up  the  waving  forest  of 
their  red  and  black  plumes,  which  rose  upright  from  their  helmets  a 
foot  and  a half  high. 

They  .stood  brandishing  their  formidable  pila,  covered  with  their 
long  shields,  and  bearing  on  their  right  thigh  their  peculiar  and  fatal 
weapon,  the  heavy  sword,  fitted  alike  to  cut  and  to  stab.  On  the 
right  of  the  line  were  the  Roman  legions  ; on  the  left  the  infantrj’  of 
the  allies  ; whilst  between  the  Roman  right  and  the  river  were  the 
Roman  horsemen,  all  of  them  of  wealthj'  or  noble  families  ; and  on 
the  left,  opposed  to  the  Numidians,  were  the  horsemen  of  the  Ital- 
ians and  of  the  Latin  name.  The  velites  or  light  infantiy  covered 
the  front,  and  were  ready  to  skirmish  with  the  light  troops  andsling- 
ers  of  the  enemy. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  which  is  not  explained  in  an3'  account  of 
the  battle,  the  Roman  infantiy  were  formed  in  columns  rather  than  in 
line,  the  files  of  the  maniples  containing  main’  more  than  their 
ranks.  This  seems  an  extraordinar}’  tactic  to  be  adopted  in  a plain 
by  an  army  inferior  in  cavaliy,  but  ver\’  superior  in  infantr\’. 
Whether  the  Romans  relied  on  the  river  as  a protection  to  their  rigli' 
Hank,  and  their  left  was  covered  in  some  manner  which  is  not  men- 
tioned— one  account  w’ould  lead  us  to  suppose  that  it  reached  near!}' 
to  the  sea — or  whether  the  great  proportion  of  new  levies  obliged  the 
Romans  to  adopt  the  system  of  the  phalanx,  and  to  place  their  raw 
soldiers  in  the  rear,  as  incapable  of  fighting  in  the  front  ranks  with 
Hannibal’s  veterans — it  appears  at  any  rate  that  the  Roman  infantrj’, 
though  nearly  double  the  number  of  the  euemj’,  j’et  formed  a line  of 
onh’  equal  length  with  Hannibal’s. 

The  skirmishing  of  the  light-armed  troops  preluded  as  usual  to  the 
battle  ; the  Balearian  slingers  slung  their  stones  like  hail  into  the 
ranks  of  the  Roman  line,  and  severely  wounded  the  consul  iEmilius 
himself.  Then  the  Spanish  and  Gaulish  horse  charged  the  Romans 
front  to  front,  and  maintained  a standing  fight  with  tlum,  many  lenp- 
ing  off  their  horses  and  fighting  on  foot,  till  the  Ror  ans,  outnum- 
bered and  badly  armed,  without  cuirasses,  with  light  and  brittle 
spears,  and  with  shields  made  onlj’  of  ox-hide,  were  totallj’  routed, 
and  driven  off  the  field.  Hasdrubal,  who  commanded  the  Gauls 
and  Spaniards,  followed  up  his  work  effectuallj'  ; he  chased  the  Ro- 
mans along  the  river  till  he  had  almost  destroj’cd  them  ; and  then, 
riding  off  to  the  right,  he  came  up  to  aid  the  Numidians,  who,  after 
their  manner,  had  been  skirmishing  indecisively  with  the  cavalry  of 
the  Italian  allies.  These,  on  seeing  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  advanc- 
ing, broke  awaj’  and  fled  ; the  Numidians,  most  effective  in  pursuing 
f>  flying  euemj',  chased  them  w’ith  unweariable  speed,  and  slaughtered 
them  unsparingly  ; while  Hasdrulwi,  to  complete  his  signal  services 
tm  this  daj’,  charged  fiercelj’  upon  the  rear  of  the  Roman  infantry. 


LIFE  OF  HAI^NIBAL. 


41 


He  found  Us  huge  masses  already  weltering  in  helpless  confusion, 
crowded  upon  one  another,  total!}'  disorganized,  and  lighting  each 
man  as  he  best  could,  but  .struggling  on  against  all  hope  by  mere  in- 
domitable courage.  For  the  Roman  columns  on  the  right  and  left, 
finding  the  Gaulish  and  Spanish  foot  advancing  in  a convex  line  or 
wedge,  pressed  forward  to  assail  what  seemed  the  flanks  of  the  eue- 
my’s  column  ; so  that,  being  already  drawn  up  with  too  narrow  a 
front  by  tlieir  original  formation,  they  now  became  compressed  still 
more  by  tlieir  own  movements,  the  right  and  left  converging  towards 
the  centre,  till  tl:  whole  army  became  one  dense  column,  which 

forced  its  way  onward  by  the  weight  of  its  charge,  and  drove  back 
the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  into  the  rear  of  their  own  line.  Meanwhile 
its  victorious  advance  had  carried  it,  like  the  English  column  at 
Fontenoy,  into  the  midst  of  Hannibal's  army  ; it  had  passed  between 
the  African  infantry  on  its  right  and  left  ; and  now,  whilst  its  head 
Was  struggling  against  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards,  its  long  flanks  were 
fiercely  assailed  by  the  Africans,  who,  facing  about  to  the  right  and 
left,  charged  it  home,  and  threw  it  into  utter  disorder.  In  this  state, 
when  they  were  forced  together  into  one  unwieldy  crowd,  and 
already  falling  by  thousands,  whilst  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards,  now 
advancing  in  their  turn,  were  barring  further  progress  in  front,  and 
whilst  the  Africans  were  tearing  their  mass  to  pieces  on  both  flanks, 
Hasdrubal  with  his  victorious  Gaulish  and  Spanish  horsemen  broke 
with  thundering  fury  upon  their  rear.  Then  followed  a butchery 
such  as  has  no  recorded  equal,  except  the  slaughter  of  the  Persians 
in  their  camp,  when  the  Greeks  forced  it,  after  the  battle  of  Platsea. 
Unable  to  fight  or  fly,  with  no  quarter  asked  or  given,  the  Romans 
and  Ralians  fell  before  the  swords  of  their  enemies,  till,  when  the 
sun  set  upon  the  field,  there  were  left  out  of  that  vast  multitude  no 
more  than  three  thousand  men  alive  and  unwounded  ; and  these  fled 
in  straggling  parties,  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  and  found  a refuge 
in  the  neighboring  towns.  The  consul.  Hilmilius,  the  proconsul.  On. 
Servilius,  the  late  master  of  the  horse,  IM.  Minucius,  two  qurestors, 
twenty-one  military  tribunes,  and  eighty  senatoi-s,  lay  dead  amidst  the 
carnage  : Yarro  with  seventy  horsemen  had  escaped  from  the  rout  of 
the  allied  cavalry  on  the  right  of  the  army,  and  made  his  way  safely 
to  Venusia. 

But  the  Roman  loss  was  not  yet  completed.  A large  force  had 
been  left  in  the  camp  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Aufidus,  to  attack  Han- 
nibal’s camp  during  the  action,  which  it  was  supposed  that,  with  his 
inferior  numbers,  he  could  not  leave  adequately  guarded.  But  it  was 
defended  so  obstinately,  that  the  Romans  were  still  besieging  it  in 
vain,  when  Hannibal,  now  completely  victorious  in  the  battle,  crossed 
the  river  to  its  relief.  Then  the  besiegers  fled  in  their  turn  to  theii 
own  camp,  and  there,  cut  off  from  all  succor,  they  presently  surren- 
dered. A few  resolute  men  had  forced  their  way  out  of  the  smallei 
camp  on  the  right  bank,  and  had  escaped  to  Canusium  : the  rest  whp 


LIFE  OF  HAFTFriBAL. 


i% 

were  in  it  followed  the  example  of  their  comrades  on  the  left  hank, 
and  surrendered  to  the  conqueror. 

Less  than  six  thousand  men  of  Hannibal’s  army  had  fallen  : no 
greater  price  had  lie  paid  for  the  total  destruction  of  more  than  eighty 
thousand  of  the  enemy,  for  the  capture  of  their  two  camps,  for  the 
utter  annihilation,  as  it  seemed,  of  all  their  means  for  offensive  war- 
fare. It  is  no  wonder  that  the  spirits  of  the  Carthaginian  officers 
were  elated  bj"  this  unequalled  victory.  31aharbal,  seeing  what  his 
cavalry  had  done,  said  to  Hauuibal,  " Let  me  advance  instant!}'  with 
the  horse,  and  do  thou  follow  to  support  me  ; in  four  days  from  this 
time  thou  shalt  sup  in  the  capitol.”  There  are  moments  when  rash- 
ness is  wisdom  ; and  it  may  be  that  this  was  one  of  them.  Tht 
statue  of  the  goddess  Victory  in  the  capitol  may  well  have  trembled 
in  every  limb  on  that  day,  and  have  drooped  her  wings,  as  if  for 
ever  ; but  Hannibal  came  not ; and  if  panic  had  for  one  moment  un 
nerved  the  iron  courage  of  the  Roman  aristocracy,  on  the  next  thei 
inborn  spirit  revived  ; and  their  I'esolute  will,  striving  beyond  its  pres 
ent  power,  created,  as  is  the  law  of  our  nat  ure,  the  power  which  ir 
required. 

The  Romans,  knowing  that  their  army  was  in  presence  of  the  enemy, 
and  that  the  consuls  had  been  ordered  no  longer  to  decline  a battle, 
were  for  some  days  in  the  mo.st  intense  anxiety.  Ev'ery  tongue  was 
repeating  some  line  of  old  prophecy,  or  relating  some  new  wonder 
or  portent  ; every  temple  was  crowded  with  supplicants  ; and  in- 
cense and  sacrifices  w’ere  offered  on  every  altar.  At  last  the  tidings 
arrived  of  the  utter  destruction  of  both  the  consular  armies,  and  of  a 
slaughter  such  as  Rome  had  never  before  known.  Even  Livy  felt 
himself  unable  adequately  to  paint  the  grief  and  consternation  of  that 
day  ; and  the  experience  of  the  bloodiest  and  most  embittered  war- 
fare of  modern  times  would  not  help  us  to  conceive  it  worthily.  But 
one  simple  fact  speaks  cloqTiently  ; the  whole  uuuvber  of  Roman  citi- 
zens able  to  bear  arms  had  amounted  at  the  last  census  to  270,000  ; 
and  supposing,  as  we  fairly  may,  that  the  loss  of  the  Romans  in  the 
l.'ite  battle  had  been  equal  to  that  of  their  allies,  there  must  have  been 
killed  Or  taken,  within  the  last  eighteen  montlis,  no  fewer  than 
1)0,000,  or  more  than  a fifth  part  of  the  whole  population  of  citizens 
above  seventeen  years  of  age.  It  must  have  been  true,  without  exag- 
geration, that  every  house'in  Rome  was  in  mourning. 

The  two  home  praetors  summoned  the  senate  to  consult  for  the  de- 
fence of  the  city.  Fabius  was  no  longer  dictator  ; yet  the  supreme 
government  at  this  moment  was  effeciually  in  his  hands  ; for  the  res- 
olutions which  he  moved  were  instantly  and  unanimously  adopted. 
Light  horsemen  w'ere  to  be  sent  out  to  gather  tidings  of  the  enemy’s 
movem«nts  ; the  members  of  the  senate,  acting  as  magistrates,  were 
to  keep  order  in  the  city,  to  stop  all  loud  or  public  lamentations,  and 
to  take  care  that  all  intelligence  was  conveyed  in  the  first  instance  to 
the  praetors  : above  all,  the  city  gates  were  to  be  strictly  guarded 


LIFE  OF  HAFTITIBAIi. 


that  no  one  might  attempt  to  fly  from  Rome,  but  all  abide  the  com- 
mon danger  together.  Then  the  forum  was  cleared,  and  the  assem- 
blies  of  the  people  suspended  ; for  at  such  a moment,  had  any  c ne 
tribune  uttered  the  word  “peace,”  the  tribes  would  have  caught  ‘t 
up  with  eagerness,  and  obliged  the  senate  to  negotiate. 

Thus  the  first  moments  of  panic  passed  ; aud  Varro’s  dispatches 
arrived,  informing  the  senate  that  he  had  rallied  the  wrecks  of  the 
army  at  Canusium,  aud  that  Hannibal  was  not  advancing  upon 
Rome.  Hope  then  began  to  revive  ; the  meetings  of  the  senate  were 
resumed,  and  measures  taken  for  maintaining  the  war. 

M.  Marcellus,  one  of  the  praetors  for  the  year,  was  at  this  moment 
at  Ostia,  preparing  to  sail  to  Sicily.  It  was  resolved  to  transfer  him 
at  once  to  the  great  scene  of  action  In  Apulia  ; aud  he  was  ordered  to 
give  up  the  fleet  to  his  colleague,  P.  Furius  Philus,  and  to  marUi 
with  the  single  legion,  which  he  had  under  his  command,  into  Apu- 
lia, there  to  collect  the  remains  of  Varro’s  army,  and  to  fall  back,  as 
he  best  could,  into  Campania,  whilst  the  consul  returned  immediately 
to  Rome. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  scene  at  Canusium  was  like  the  disorder  of  a 
ship  going  to  pieces,  when  fear  makes  men  desperate,  and  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  swallows  up  every  other  feeling.  Some 
young  men  of  the  noblest  families,  a Metuilus  being  at  the  head  of 
them,  looking  upon  Rome  as  lost,  were  ’planning  to  escape  from  the 
rain,  and  to  fly  bejmud  sea,  in  the  hope  of  entering  into  some 
foreign  service  Such  an  e.xample,  at  such  a moment,  would  have 
led  the  way  to  a general  panic  : if  the  nob.lest  citizens  of  Rome  de- 
spaired of  their  country,  what  allied  state,  or  what  colony,  could  be 
expected  to  sacrifice  themselves  in  defence  of  a hopeless  cause  ? The 
consul  exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  check  this  spirit,  and,  aided 
by  some  firmer  spirits  amongst  the  oflicers  themselves,  he  succeeded 
in  repressing  it.  He  kept  his  men  together,  gave  them  over  to  the 
praetor,  Marcellus,  on  his  arrival  at  Canusium,  aud  xrrepared  instantly 
to  obey  the  orders  of  the  senate,  by  returning  to  Rome.  The  fate  of 
P.  Claudius  aud  L.  .Tuuius,  in  the  last  war,  might  have  wnirncd  him 
of  the  dangers  which  threatened  a defeated  general  ; he  himself  was 
personally  hateful  to  the  prevailing  party  at  Rome  ; and  if  the  mem- 
ory of  Flaminius  was  persecuted,  notwithstanding  his  glorious  death, 
what  could  lie  look  for,  a fugitive  general  from  that  field,  where  his 
colleague  and  all  his  soldiers  had  perished  ? Demosthenes  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  the  Athenian  people  after  his  defeat  in  Hltolia  ; but 
Varro,  with  a manlier  spirit,  returned  to  bear  the  obloquy  aud  the 
punishment  which  the  popular  feeling,  excited  by  part}''  animosity, 
was  so  likely  to  heap  on  him.  He  stopped,  as  usual,  without  the 
city  walls,  and  summoned  the  senate  to  meet  him  in  the  Campus 
Martins. 

The  senate  felt  his  confidence  in  them,  and  answered  it  nobly.  All 
party  feeling  were  suspended  ; all  popular  irritation  was  subdued  j 


LIFE  or  HA^raTBAL. 


the  butcher’s  son,  the  turbulent  demagogue,  the  defeated  general 
were  all  forgotten  ; oul}'  Varro’s  latest  conduct  was  remembered, 
that  he  had  resisted  the  panic  of  his  officers,  and,  instead  of  seeking 
shelter  at  the  court  of  a foreign  king,  had  submitted  himself  to  the 
judgment  of  his  countrymen.  The  senate  voted  him  their  thanks. 

because  he  had  not  despaired  of  the  commonwealth.” 

It  was  resolved  to  name  a dictator  ; and  some  writers  related  that 
'be  general  voice  of  the  senate  and  people  offered  the  dictatorship  to 
/ arro  liimself,  Init  tliat  he  positively  refused  to  accept  it.  This  story 
is  extremely  iloubtful  ; but  the  dictator  actuall3^  named  was  M. 
Junius  Pisa,  a member  of  a popular  fanii!3%  and  who  liaii  himself 
been  consul  and  censor.  His  master  of  the  horse  was  T.  Sempro- 
.nius  Gracchus,  the  lirst  of  that  noble,  but  ill  fated,  name  wJio  ap- 
pears in  the  Roman  annals. 

Alread3^  before  the  appointment  of  the  dictator,  the  Roman  gov- 
ernment had  shown  tliat  its  resolution  was  fixed  to  carr3'  on  the  war 
to  the  death.  Hannibal  had  allowed  his  Roman  prisoners  to  send  ten 
of  their  number  to  Rome,  to  petition  that  tiie  senate  would  permit  the 
whole  body  to  be  ransomed  by  their  friends  at  the  sum  of  thrci. 
mime,  or  3000  ases,  for  each  prisoner.  But  the  senate  absolutel3’  for 
bade  the  monc3'  to  be  paid,  neither  choosing  to  furnish  Hannibal 
with  so  large  a sum,  nor  to  show  aii3'  compa.ssion  to  men  who  had 
ailowed  themselves  to  fall  alive  into  the  enemy’s  hands.  The  prison- 
ers, therefore,  were  left  in  hopeless  captivit3'  ; and  the  armies,  which 
the  state  required,  were  to  be  formed  out  of  other  materials.  The 
expedients  adopted  showed  the  U’'genc3^  of  the  danger. 

When  the  consuls  took  the  field  at  the  beginning  of  the  campaign, 
two  legions  had  been  left,  as  usual,  to  cover  the  capital.  These  were 
now  to  be  emplo3'ed  in  active  service,  and  with  them  was  a small  de- 
tachineofc  of  troons  which  had  been  drawn  from  Picenum  and  the 
neighborhood  of  Ariminum,  where  their  services  were  become  of 
less  importance.  The  contiagen'.s  from  the  allies  were  not  ready, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  wait  for  them.  In  order,  therefore,  to  en- 
able the  dictator  to  take  the  field  iminediatel3q  eight  thousand  slaves 
were  enlisted,  having  expressed  their  willingness  to  serve,  and  arms 
were  provided,  by  taking  down  from  the  temple  the  spoils  won  in 
former  wars.  The  dictator  went  still  further  : he  offered  pardon  to 
criminals,  and  release  to  debtors,  if  the3'  were  willing  to  take  up 
arms  ; and  amongst  the  fornter  class  were  some  bands  of  robbers, 
v/ho  then,  as  in  later  times,  infested  the  mountains,  and  who  con- 
sented to  serve  the  state,  on  receiving  an  indemnitv*  for  their  past 
offences.  'U^ith  this  strange  force,  amounting,  it  is  said,  to  about 
25,000  men,  M.  Junius  marched  into  Campania,  whilst  a new  levv’  of 
the  oldest  and  3'oimgest  citizens  supplied  two  new  legions  for  the  de- 
fence of  the  capital,  in  the  place  of  those  which  followed  the  dictator 
into  the  field.  M.  Junius  fixed  his  headquarters  at  Teanum,  on 
high  ground,  upon  the  edge  of  the  Faleniian  plain,  with  the  Latis 


LIFE  OF  HAHNIBAL.  45 

colony  of  Gales  in  his  front,  and  communicating  by  the  Latin  road 
with  Rome. 

The  dictator  was  at  Teanum,  and  M.  Marcellus,  with  the  army  of 
Cannae,  whom  we  left  in  Apulia,  is  described  as  now  lying  encamped 
above  Sucssula— that  is,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Vulturnus,  ou  the 
hills  which  bound  the  Campanian  plain,  ten  or  twelve  miles  to  the 
east  of  Capua,  on  the  right  of  the  Appiau  road  as  it  ascends  the  pass 
of  Caudium  towards  Reneventuin.  Thus  we  tiud  the  seat  of  war  re- 
moved from  Apulia  to  Campania  ; l)ut  the  detail  of  the  intermediate 
movements  is  lost ; and  we  must  restore  the  broken  story  as  well  as 
we  can,  by  tracing  ilanuibal’s  operations  after  the  battle  of  Cauum, 
which  are  undoubtedly  the  key  to  those  of  his  enemies. 

The  fidelity  of  the  allies  of  Rome,  which  had  uot  been  shaken  by 
the  defeat  of  Thrasymenus,  could  not  resist  the  fiery  trial  of  Cannre, 
The  Apulians  joined  the  conqueror  immediately,  and  Arjii  and  Sala- 
pia  opened  their  gates  to  him.  Bruttium,  Lucauia  and  Sanmiuin 
were  ready  to  follow  the  example,  and  Hannibal  was  obliged  to 
divide  his  army,  and  send  officers  info  different  parts  of  the  country, 
to  receive  and  protect  those  who  wished  to  join  him,  and  to  orgatii/.e 
their  forces  for  effective  co-operation  in  the  field.  Meanwhile  he 
himself  remained  in  Apulia,  not,  perhaps,  without  hope  that  this  last 
blow  had  broken  the  spirit  as  well  as  the  power  of  the  enemy,  and 
that  they  would  listen  readily  to  proposals  of  peace.  With  this  view, 
he  sent  a Carthaginiaii  officer  to  accompany  the  deputation  of  the 
Roman  prisoners  to  Rome,  anti  ordered  liim  to  encourage  any  dispo- 
sition on  the  part  of  the  Romans  to  open  a negotiation.  When  he 
found,  therefore,  ou  the  return  of  the  deputies,  that  his  officers  had 
not  been  ailowed  to  enter  the  city,  and  that  the  Romans  had  refused 
to  ransom  their  prisoners,  his  disappointment  betrayed  him  into  acts 
of  the  most  inhuman  crueity.  The  mass  of  the  prisoners  left  in  his 
hands,  he  sold  for  slaves  ; and,  so  far,  he  did  not  overstep  the  recog- 
nized laws  of  warfare  ; but  many  of  die  more  distinguished  among 
them  he  put  to  death  ; and  those  who  were  senators,  he  obliged  to 
fight  as  gladiators  with  each  other,  in  the  presence  of  his  whole 
army.  It  is  added  that  brothers  were  in  some  instances  brought  out 
to  fight  with  their  brothers,  and  sous  with  their  fathers  ; but  that  the, 
prisoners  refused  so  to  siu  against  nature,  and  chose  rather  to  suffer 
the  worst  torments  than  to  draw  their  swords  m such  horrible  com- 
bats.* Hannibal’s  vow  may  have  justified  all  these  cruelties  in  his 


* Diodorus,  XXVI.  Exc.  de  Virtut.  et  Vitiis.  Appian,  VII.  28.  Zonar.as,  IX.  2. 
Valeriu.s  Maximus,  IX.  2,  Ext.  2.  But  as  even  Livy  does  not  mention  these  stories, 
though  they  would  have  afforded  such  a topic  for  bis  rhetoric — nor  does  Polybius, 
either  in  IX.  2f,  when  speaking  of  Haunibai’s  alleged  cruelty,  or  in  VI.  58,  '.vlicro 
he  gives  the  account  of  the  mission  of  the  captives,  there  must,  doubtless,  be  a 
great  deal  of  exaggeration  in  tli'  in,  even  if  they  had  any  foundation  at  all.  The 
story  in  Pliny,  VIII.  7,  that  the  last  survivor  of  these  gladiatorial  combats  had  to 
fight  against  an  elephant,  and  killed  him,  and  was  then  treacherously  waylaid  and 
murdered  by  Hannibal's  orders,  was  probably  invented  with  reference  to  this  very 


46 


LIFE  OF  HAHKIBAL. 


eyes  ; but  his  passions  deceived  him,  and  he  was  provoKed  to  fury  by 
the  resolute  spirit  which  ought  to  have  excited  his  admiration.  To 
admire  the  virtue  which  thwarts  our  dearest  purposes,  however  natu, 
ral  it  may  seem  to  indifferent  spectators,  is  one  of  the  hardest  trials  of 
humanity. 

Finding  the  Romans  immovable,  Hannibal  broke  up  from  his  posi- 
tion in  Apulia,  and  moved  into  Samniiim.  The  populai  party  in 
Compsa  opened  their  gates  to  him,  and  he  made  the  place  serve  as  a 
depot  for  liis  plunder,  and  for  the  heavy  baggage  of  his  army.  His 
brother  Mago  was  then  ordered  to  march  into  Briittium  with  a divi- 
sion of  the  army,  and  after  having  received  the  submission  of  the 
Hirpiiiians  on  his  way  to  embark  at  one  of  the  Bruttian  ports  and 
carry  the  tidings  of  his  success'  to  Carthage.  Haimo,  with  another 
division,  was  sent  into  Lucania  to  protect  the  revolt  of  the  Luca- 
niaus,  whilst  Hannibal  himself,  in  pursuit  of  a still  greater  prize,  de- 
scended once  more  into  the  plains  of  Campania.  The  Pentrian  Sam- 
nites,  partly  restrained  by  the  Latin  colony  of  CEsernia,  and  partly 
by  tlie  influence  of  their  own  countryman,  Hum.  Dccimius,  of 
Bovianum,  a zealous  supporter  of  the  Roman  alliance,  remained  firm 
in  their  adherence  to  Rome  ; but  the  Hhpinians  and  the  Caudinian 
Samnites  all  joined  the  Carthaginians,  and  their  soldiers,  no  doubt, 
formed  part  of  the  army  with  which  Hannibal  invaded  Campania. 
There,  all  was  readj''  for  his  reception.  The  populai’  part}'  in  Capua 
were  headed  by  Pacuvius  Calavius,  a man  of  the  highest  nobility, 
and  married  to  a daughter  of  Appius  Claudius,  but  whose  ambition 
led  him  to  aspire  to  the  sovereignty,  not  of  his  own  country  only, 
but,  through  Hannibal’s  aid,  of  the  -whole  of  Italy,  Capua  succeed- 
ing, as  he  hoped,  to  the  supremacy  now  enjoyed  by  Rome.  The 
aristocratical  party  were  weak  and  unpopular,  and  could  offer  no  op- 
position to  him,  whilst  the  people,  wholly  subject  to  his  influence, 
concluded  a treaty  wdth  Hannibal,  and  admitted  the  Carthaginian 
general  and  his  army  into  the  city.  Thus  the  second  city  in  Italy, 
capable,  it  is  said,  of  raising  an  army  of  30,000  foot  and  41)00  horse. 
Connected  with  Rome  by  the  closest  ties,  and  which  for  nearly  a cen- 
tury had  remained  true  to  its  alliance  under  all  dangers,  threw  itself 
into  the  arms  of  Hannibal,  and  took  its  place  at  the  head  of  the  new 
coalition  of  southern  Italy,  to  try  the  old  quarrel  of  the  !?amnite  wars 
once  again. 

This  revolt  of  Capua,  the  greatest  result,  short  of  the  submission 
cf  Rome  itself,  which  could  have  followed  from  the  battle  of  Cannae 
drew  the  Roman  armies  towards  Campania,  jllarcellus  had  probably 
fallen  back  from  Canusium  by  the  Appian  road  through  Beneven- 
tum,  moving  by  an  interior  and  shorter  line  ; whilst  Hannibid  ad- 


oceasion.  The  remarks  of  Polj'hius  should  make  us  slow  to  believe  the  stories  of 
Hannihai’s  cruelties,  tv'hich  so  soon  became  a theme  for  the  invention  of  uoets  a-,ii 
rhetoricians. 


LIFE  OF  HAJI'inBAE. 


47 


vanced  by  Compsa  upon  Abellinum,  descending  into  the  plain  of 
Campania  by  what  is  now  tlie  pass  of  Monteforte.  Hannibal’s  cav- 
alry gave  him  the  wliole  command  of  the  country  ; and  Marcellas 
could  do  no  more  tium  watch  iiis  movements  from  his  camp  above 
Suessula,  and  wait  for  some  opportunity  of  impeding  his  operations 
in  detail. 

At  this  point  in  the  story  of  the  war,  tlie  question  arises,  how  was 
it  possible  for  Rome  to  escape  destruction  ? Nor  is  this  question 
merely  prompted  by  the  thought  of  Hannibal’s  great  victories  in  the 
field,  and  the  enormous  slaughter  of  Roman  citizens  at  Thrasymenus 
and  Caunte  ; it  appears  even  more  perplexing  to  those  who  have  at- 
tentively studied  the  preceding  history  of  Rome.  A single  battle, 
evenly  contested  and  hardlj''  won,  had  enabled  Pyrrhus  to  advance 
into  the  heart  of  Latium  ; the  Ileruican  cities  and  the  impregnable 
Praeueste  had  opened  their  gates  to  him  ; yet  Capua  was  then 
faithful  to  Rome  ; and  Samnium  and  Lucania,  exliausted  by  long 
years  of  unsuccessful  warfare,  could  liave  yielded  liim  no  such 
sucoor  as  now,  after  fifty  years  of  peace,  they  were  able  to 
afford  to  Hannibal.  But  now,  when  Hannibal  was  received  into 
Capua,  the  state  of  Italy  seemed  to  have  gone  backward  a him- 
dred  years,  and  to  have  returned  to  what  it  had  been  after  the 
battle  of  Lautulm,  in  the  second  Samuite  war,  with  the  immense  ad- 
liition  of  the  genius  of  Hannibal  and  the  power  of  Carthage  throwi. 
into  the  scale  of  the  enemies  of  Rome.  Then,  as  now,  Capua  had 
revolted,  and  Campania,  Samnium  and  Lucania,  were  banded  to- 
gether against  Rome  ; but  this  same  confederacy  was  now  supported 
by  all  the  resources  of  Carthage  : and  at  its  head  in  the  field  of  bat- 
tle was  an  army  of  thirty  thousand  veterans  and  victorious  soldiers, 
led  by  one  cf  the  grestest  generals  whom  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
How  could  it  happen  that  a confederacy  so  formidable  was  only 
formed  to  be  defeated  ?— that  the  revolt  of  Capua  was  the  term  of 
Hannibal’s  progress  ? — that  from  this  day  forward  his  great  powers 
were  shown  rather  in  repelling  defeat  than  in  commanding  victory  ? 
—that,  instead  of  besieging  Rome,  he  was  soon  employed  in  protect- 
ing and  relieving  Capua  ? — and  that  his  protection  and  succors  were 
alike  unavailing '! 

No  single  cause  will  explain  a result  so  extraordinary.  Rome 
owed  her  deliverance  principally  to  the  strength  of  the  aristocratical 
interest  throughout  Italy — to  her  numerous  colonies  of  the  Latin 
name — to  the  scanty  numbers  of  Hannibal’s  Africans  and  Spaniards, 
and  to  his  want  of  an  efficient  artillery.  The  material  of  a good  artil- 
lery must  surely  have  existed  in  Capua  ; but  there  seem  to  have  been 
no  officers  capable  of  directing  it ; and  no  great  general’s  operations 
exhibits  so  striking  a contrast  of  strength  and  weakness  as  may  be 
seen  in  Hannibal’s  battles  and  sieges.  And  when  Cannae  had  taught 
the  Romans  to  avoid  pitched  battles  in  the  open  field,  the  war  became 
necessarily  a series  of  sieges,  where  Hannibal’s  strongest  arm,  his 


LIFE  OF  HANFTIBAL. 


cavalry,  could  render  little  service,  while  his  infantry  was  in  quality 
not  more  than  equal  to  the  enemy,  and  his  artillery  was  decidedly 
^ferior. 

With  wo  divisions  of  his  army  absent  in  Lucania  and  Brut- 
‘ium,  and  whilst  anxiously  waiting  for  the  reinforcements  which 
ffago  was  to  procure  from  Carthage,  Hannibal  could  not  undertake 
my  great  offensive  operation  after  his  arrival  in  Campania.  He  at- 
tempted only  to  reduce  the  remaining  cities  of  the  Campanian  plain 
,nd  sea-coast,  and  especially  to  dislodge  the  Homans  from  Casilinum, 
vhicli,  lying  within  three  miles  of  Capua,  and  commanding  the  pas- 
age  of  the  Vulturnus,  not  only  restrained  all  his  movements,  but  was 
a serious  annoyance  to  Capua,  and  threatened  its  territory  with  con- 
tinual incursions.  Atilla  and  Calatia  had  revolted  to  him  already 
with  Capua  ; and  he  took  Nuceria,  Alfaterna,  and  Acerrse.  The 
Greek  cities  on  the  coast,  Neopolis  and  Cuma;,  were  firml}'  attached 
to  Rome,  and  were  too  strong  to  be  besieged  with  success  : but  Xola 
lay  in  the  midst  of  the  plain  nearly  midway  between  Capua  and 
Nuceria  ; and  the  popular  party  there,  as  elsewhere,  were  ready 
to  open  their  gates  to  Hannibal.  He  was  preparing  to  appear  before 
the  town  ; but  the  aristocracy  had  time  to  apprise  the  Romans  of 
their  danger  ; and  Marcellus,  who  was  then  at  Casilinum,  marched 
round  behind  the  mountains  to  escape  the  encmj'’s  notice,  and  de- 
scended suddenly  upon  Xola  from  the  hills  which  rise  directly  above 
it.  He  secured  the  place,  repressed  the  popular  party  by  some 
bloody  executions,  and  when  Hannibal  advanced  to  the  walls,  made 
a sudden  sally,  and  repulsed  him  with  some  loss.  Having  done  this 
service,  and  left  the  aristocratical  party  in  absolute  possession  of  the 
government,  he  returned  again  to  the  hills,  and  lay  encamped  on  the 
edge  of  the  mountaiu  boundary  of  the  Campanian  plain,  just  above 
the  entrance  of  the  famous  pass  of  Caudium.  His  place  at  Casili- 
num was  to  be  supplied  by  the  dictator’s  arm}'  from  Teanum  ; but 
Hannibal  watched  his  eppo  tunity,  and  anticipating  his  enemies  this 
Idme,  laid  regular  siege  to  Jasiliuum,  which  was  defended  by  a gar- 
rison of  about  1000  men. 

This  garrison  had  acted  the  very  same  part  towards  the  citizens  of 
Casilinum  which  the  Campanians  had  acted  at  Rhegium  m the  war 
with  Pyrrhus.  iVbout  500  Latins  of  Pratneste,  and  450  Etruscans  of 
Perusia,  having  been  levied  too  late  to  join  the  consular  armies  when 
:hey  took  the  lield,  were  mai'ching  after  them  into  Apulia,  by  the 
Appian  road,  when  they  heard  tidings  of  the  defeat  of  Canute. 
They  immediately  turned  about,  and  fell  back  upon  Casilinum.  where 
they  established  themselves,  and  for  their  better  security  massacred 
the  Campanian  inhabitants,  and,  abandoning  the  quarter  of  the  town 
which  was  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Vulturnus,  occupied  the  (piarter 
on  the  right  bank.  Marcellus,  when  he  retreated  from  .Vpulia  with 
the  wreck  of  Varro’s  army,  had  fixed  his  headquarters  for  a time  at 
Casilinum , the  position  being  one  of  great  impcrtauce,  and  there  beuqj 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


49 


some  danger  lest  the  garrison,  whilst  they  kept  off  Hannibal,  should 
resolve  to  hold  the  town  for  themselves  rather  than  for  the  Romans. 
They  were  now  left  to  themselves  ; and  dreading  Hannibal’s  ven- 
geance for  the  massacre  of  the  old  inhabitants,  they  resisted  his  assaults 
desperately,  and  obliged  him  to  turn  the  siege  into  a blockade.  This 
was  the  last  active  operation  of  the  campaign:  all  the  armies  now 
went  into  winter  quarters.  The  dictator  remained  at  Teanum  ; Mar- 
cellus  lay  in  his  mountain  camp  above  Nola  ; and  Hannibal’s  army 
was  at  Capua.  Being  quartered  in  the  houses  of  the  city,  instead  of 
being  encamped  by  themselves,  their  discipline,  it  is  likely,  was 
somewhat  impaired  by  the  various  temptations  thrown  in  their  waj'  : 
iind  as  the  wealth  and  enjoyments  of  Capua  at  that  time  were  noto- 
rious, the  wu'iters  who  adopted  the  vulgar  declamations  against  lux- 
ury pretended  that  Hannibal’s  army  was  ruined  by  the  indulgences 
of  this  winter,  and  that  Capua  was  the  Cauuse  of  Carthage. 

Meantime  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Cannae  had  been  carried  to 
Carthage,  as  we  have  seen,  by  Hannibal’s  brother  Mago,  accompa- 
nied with  a request  for  reinforcements.  Nearly  two  years  before, 
when  he  first  descended  from  the  Alps  into  Cisalpine  Gaul,  his  Afri- 
cans and  Spaniards  were  reduced  to  no  more  than  20,000  foot  and 
6000  horse.  The  Gauls,  who  had  joined  him  since,  had  indeed  more 
than  doubled  this  number  at  first ; but  three  great  battles,  and  many 
partial  actions,  besides  the  unavoidable  losses  from  sickness  during 
two  years  of  active  service,  must  have  again  greatly  diminished  it ; 
and  this  force  was  now  to  be  divided  : a part  of  it  was  employed  in 
Bruttium,  a part  in  Lucania,  leaving  an  inconsiderable  body  under 
Hannibal’s  own  command.  On  the  other  hand,  the  accession  of  the 
Campanians,  Samnites,  Lucanians,  and  Bruttians  supplied  him  with 
auxiliary  troops  in  abundance,  and  of  excellent  quality  ; so  that  large 
reinforcements  from  home  were  not  required,  but  only  enough  for 
the  Africans  to  form  a substantial  part  of  every  army  employed  in 
the  field,  and,  above  all,  to  maintain  his  superiority  in  cavahy.  It  is 
said  that  some  of  the  reinforcements  which  were  voted  on  Mago’s  de- 
mand were  afterwards  diverted  to  other  services  ; and  we  do  not 
know  what  was  the  amount  of  force  actually  sent  over  to  Italy,  nor 
when  it  arrived.*  It  consisted  chiefly,  if  not  entirelj'-,  of  cavalry  and 
elephants  ; for  all  the  elephants  which  Hannibal  had  brought  with 
him  into  Italy  had  long  since  perished  ; and  his  anxiety  to  obtain 
others,  troublesome  and  hazardous  as  it  must  have  been  to  transport 
them  from  Africa  by  sea,  speaks  stronglj’^  in  favor  of  their  use  in 
war,  which  modern  writers  are  perhaps  too  much  inclined  to  depre- 
ciate. 

We  have  no  infonhation  as  to  the  feelings  entertained  by  Hannibal 
and  the  Campanians  towards  each  other,  whilst  the  Carthaginians 


* He  is  represented  as  having  elephants  at  the  siege  of  CasUinum.  Livy,  XXIIl 
18.  If  this  be  correct,  the  reinforcenreuts  must  already  have  joined  him. 


50 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


were  wintering  in  Capua.  The  treaty  of  alliance  had  provided  care- 
fully for  the  independence  of  the  Campanians,  that  the^'  might  not 
be  treated  as  Pyrrhus  had  treated  the  Tareutines.  Capua  was  to 
have  its  own  laws  and  magistrates  ; no  Campanian  was  to  he  com- 
pelled to  any  duty,  civil  or  military,  nor  to  be  in  any  way  subject  to 
the  authority  of  the  Carthaginian  officers.  There  must  have  been 
something  of  a Roman  party  opposed  to  the  alliance  with  Carthage 
altogether  ; though  the  Roman  writers  mention  one  man  onlj',  Decius 
Magius,  who  was  said  to  have  resisted  Hannibal  to  his  face  with  such 
vehemence  that  Hannibal  sent  him  prisoner  to  Carthage.  But  three 
hundred  Campanian  horsemen  of  the  richer  classes,  who  were  serv- 
ing in  the  Roman  army  in  Sicily  when  Capua  revolted,  went  to 
Rome  as  soon  as  their  service  was  over,  and  •were  there  received  as 
Roman  citizens  ; and  others,  though  unable  to  resist  the  general  voice 
of  their  countrymen,  must  have  longed  in  their  hearts  to  return  to  the 
Roman  alliance.  Of  the  leaders  of  the  Campanian  peojile,  we  know 
little : Pacuvius  Calavius,  the  principal  author  of  the  revolt,  is  never 
mentioned  afterwards  ; nor  do  we  know  the  fate  of  his  sou  Pcrolla, 
who,  in  his  zeal  for  Rome,  wished  to  assassinate  Hannibal  at  his  own 
father’s  table,  when  he  made  his  public  entrance  into  Capua,  ^'ibius 
Virrius  is  also  named  as  a leading  partisan  of  the  Carthaginians  ; and 
amidst  the  pictures  of  the  luxurj'  and  feebleness  of  the  Campanians, 
their  cavalry,  which  was  formed  entirely  out  of  the  wealthiest 
classes,  is  allowed  to  have  been  excellent ; and  one  brave  and  piac- 
tised  soldier,  .Jubellius  Taurea,  had  acquired  a high  reputation 
amongst  the  Romans  when  he  served  with  them,  and  had  attracted 
the  notice  and  re.spect  of  Hannibal. 

During  the  interval  from  active  warfare  afforded  by  the  winter, 
the  Romans  took  measures  for  filling  up  the  numerous  vacancies 
which  the  la^rse  of  five  j'ears,  and  so  man\'  di.sastrous  battles,  had 
made  in  the  numbers  of  the  senate.  The  natural  course  -would  have 
been  to  elect  censors,  to  whom  the  duty  of  making  out  the  roll  of  the 
senate  properly  belonged  ; but  the  vacancies  were  so  many,  and  the 
censor's  power  in  admitting  new  citizens,  and  degrading  old  ones, 
was  so  enormous,  that  the  senate  feared,  it  seems,  to  trust  to  the  re- 
sult of  an  ordinary  election  ; and  resolved  that  the  censor's  business 
should  be  performed  bj"  the  oldest  man  in  point  of  standing,  of  ail 
those  who  had  already  been  censors,  and  that  he  should  be  appointed 
dictator  for  this  especial  duty,  although  there  'was  one  dictal.  r 
already  for  the  conduct  of  the  war.  The  person  thus  selected  was 
M.  Fabius  Buteo,  who  had  been  censor  six-and-tweuty  years  before, 
at  the  end  of  the  first  Punic  war,  and  who  had  more  recently  been 
the  chief  of  the  embassy  sent  to  declare  war'on  Carthage  after  the 
destruction  of  Saguntmn.  That  his  appointment  might  want  uc 
legal  formality,  C.  Yarro,  the  only  surviving  consul,  was  sent  for 
home  from  Apulia  to  nominate  him,  the  senate  intending  to  detain 
Varro  in  Rome  till  he  should  have  presided  at  the  comitia  for  the 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


51 


election  of  tlie  next  year’s  magistrates.  The  nomination  as  usual 
took  x^lace  at  mirlnight  ; and  on  the  following  morning  M.  Fabius 
appeared  in  the  forum  with  his  four-and-tweuty  lictors,  and  ascended 
the  rostra  to  address  the  people.  Invested  with  absolute  power  for 
six  nionths,  and  especially  charged  with  no  less  a task  than  the  for- 
mation, at  his  discretion,  of  that  great  council  which  possessed  the 
supreme  government  of  the  commonwealth,  the  noble  old  man 
neitlier  shrunk  weakly  from  so  heavy  a burden,  nor  ambitiously 
al)used  so  vast  an  authority.  He  told  the  people  that  he  would  not 
strike  off  the  name  of  a single  senator  from  the  list  of  the  senate,  and 
that,  in  filling  up  tlie  vacancies,  he  vvould  proceed  by  a defined  rule  ; 
that  he  would  first  a Id  all  those  who  had  held  cunrle  offices  within 
tire  last  five  years,  without  having  been  admitted  as  j'et  into  the  sen- 
ate ; that,  in  the  second  place,  he  would  take  all  who  within  the  same 
period  liad  l>een  tribunes,  rediles,  or  quaestors  ; and,  thirdly,  all  those 
who  could  show  in  their  houses  spoils  won  in  battle  from  an  enemj', 
or  who  had  received  the  wreath  of  oak  fur  saving  the  life  of  a citizen 
in  battle.  In  this  manner  177  new  senators  were  placed  on  the  roll  ; 
the  new  members  thus  forming  a large  majority  of  the  whole  number 
of  the  senate,  which  amounted  to  only  three  humlred.  This  being 
done  forthwith,  the  dictator,  as  he  stood  in  the  rostra,  resigned  his 
office,  dismissed  his  lictors,  and  went  down  into  the  forum  a private 
man.  There  he  purposely  lingered  amidst  the  crowd,  lest  the  people 
should  leave  their  business  to  follow  him  home  ; but  their  admiration 
was  not  cooled  bj^  this  delay  ; and  when  he  withdrew  at  the  usual 
hour,  the  whole  people  attended  him  to  his  house.  Such  was  Fabius 
Buteo’s  dictatorship,  so  wisely  fulfilled,  so  simply  and  nobl}’'  re- 
signed, that  the  dictatorship  of  Fabius  Maximus  himself  has  earned 
no  purer  glory. 

Varro,  it  is  said,  not  wishing  to  be  detained  in  Rome,  returned  to 
his  army  the  next  night,  without  giving  the  senate  notice  of  his  de- 
parture. The  dictator,  !M.  .lunius,  was  therefore  requested  to  repair 
to  Rome  to  hold  the  comitia  ; and  Ti.  Gracchus  and  J1  IMarcellus 
were  to  come  with  him  to  report  on  the  state  of  their  several  armies, 
and  concert  measures  for  the  ensuing  campaign.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  the  senate  determined  on  the  persons  to  be  proposed  at  the  ensu- 
ing elections,  and  that,  if  any  one  else  had  come  forward  as  a candi- 
date, the  dictator  who  presided  would  have  refused  to  receive  votes 
for  him.  Accordingly  the  consuls  and  pro3tors  chosen  were  all  men 
of  the  highest  reputation  for  ability  and  experience  : thf  consuls  were 
L.  Postumius,  whose  defeat  and  death  in  Cisalpine  Gaul  - were  not  yet 
known  in  Rome,  and  Ti.  Gracchus,  now  master  of  the  horse.  The 
prffitors  were  M.  Valerius  Ljevinus,  Ap.  Claudius  Pulo*^er,  a grand- 
son of  the  famous  censor,  Appius  the  blind,  Q.  Fulvius  Flaccus,  old 
in  years,  but  vigorous  in  mincl  and  body,  who  had  already  been  cen- 
sor, and  twice  consul,  and  Q.  Mucius  Sctevola.  AVhen  fhe  death  of 
L.  Postumius  was  known,  his  place  was  finally  filled  by  no  less  a 


62 


LIFE  OF  HAFTlSriBAL. 


pers  ‘n  than  Q.  Fabius  Maximus  : whilst  Marcellus  was  still  to  retail 
his  command  with  proconsular  power,  as  his  activity  and  enerj>-y 
could  ill  be  spared  at  a time  so  critical. 

The  officers  for  the  year  being  thus  appointed,  it  remained  to  de- 
termine their  several  provinces,  and  to  provide  them  with  sufficient 
forces.  Fabius  was  to  succeed  to  the  array  of  the  dictator,  Juni- 
us ; and  his  headquarters  were  advanced  from  Teanum  to  Cales,  at 
the  northern  extremity  of  tlie  Falernian  plain,  about  seven  En<rlisb 
miles  from  Casilinum  and  the  Vulturnus,  and  less  than  ten  from 
Capua.  Tlie  other  consul,  Ti  Sempronitis,  was  to  have  no  other 
Homan  army  than  two  legions  of  volunteer  slaves,  who  were  to  be 
raised  for  the  occasion  ; but  both  he  and  his  colleague  hail  tlie  usual 
contingent  of  L itin  and  Italian  allies.  Gracchus  named  Siuuessa  on 
the  Appian  road,  at  the  point  where  the  Massic  hills  run  out  with 
ft  bold  headland  into  the  sea,  as  the  place  of  meeting  for  his  soldiers  ; 
and  his  business  was  to  protect  the  towns  on  the  coast,  which  were 
still  faithful  to  Rome,  such  as  Cuma  and  jS’eapolis.  Marcellus  was 
to  command  two  new  Roman  legions,  and  to  lie  as  before  in  his  camp 
above  Nola  ; wiiilst  his  old  army  was  sent  into  Sicih'  to  relieve  the 
legions  there,  and  enable  them  to  return  to  Ital}',  where  the)'  foinied 
a fourth  army  under  the  command  of  31.  Valerius  Laevimis,  the  prae- 
tor peregrinus,  in  Apulia.  The  small  force  which  Varro  had  com- 
manded in  Apulia  was  ordered  to  Tareutum.  to  add  to  the  streutrih 
of  that  important  place  ; whilst  A’arro  himself  was  sent  with  procon- 
sular power  into  Piceuum,  to  raise  soldiers,  and  to  watch  the  road 
along  the  Adriatic  by  which  the  Gauls  might  have  sent  reinforcc- 
nents  to  Hannibal.  Q.  Fulvius  Flaccus,  the  prador  urbanus,  re- 
mained at  Rome  to  conduct  the  government,  and  had  no  other  mili- 
tary command  than  that  of  a small  fleet  for  the  defence  of  the  coast 
on'botli  sides  of  the  Tiber.  Of  the  other  tw'o  prators,  Ap.  Ciaudius 
was  to  command  in  Sicily,  and  Q.  jNIucius  in  Sardinia  ; and  P.  Scipio 
as  proconsul  still  commanded  his  old  army  of  two  legions  in  Spain. 
On  the  wdiole,  including  the  volunteer  slaves,  there  appeared  to  have 
been  fourteen  Roman  legions  in  active  service  at  the  beginning  of 
the  j'ear  539,  without  reckoning  the  soldiers  ■who  served  in  the  fleets  ; 
and  of  these  fourteen  legions,  nine  were  employed  in  It.ah'.  If  we 
suppose  that  the  Latin  and  Italian  allies  bore  their  usual  proportion 
to  the  number  of  Roman  soldiers  in  each  army,  we  shall  have  a total 
of  140,000  men,  thus  divided  ; 20,000  in  Spain,  and  the  same  number 
in  Sicil3f ; 10,000  in  Sardinia  ; 20,000  under  each  of  the  consuls  : 
20,000  with  jNIarcellus  ; 20,000  under  Latvinus  in  Apulia  ; and  10,000 
in  Tarentum. 

Seventy  thousand  men  were  thus  in  arms,  besides  the  seamen,  out 
of  a population  of  citizens  which  at  the  last  census  before  the  war 
had  amoiiuted  onl}’^  to  270,213,  and  which  had  since  been  thinned  by 
so  many  disastrous  battles.  Nor  was  the  drain  on  the  finances  of 
Rome  less  extraordinary'.  The  legions  in  the  provinces  had  indeed 


LIFE  OP  HAFTNIBAL. 


53 


been  left  to  their  own  resources  as  to  money  ; but  the  nine  legions 
jerving  in  Italy  must  have  been  paid  regularly  ; for  war  could  not 
the‘’e  be  made  to  support  wau'  ; and  if  the  Romans  had  been  left  to 
live  at  free  cpiarters  upon  their  Italian  allies,  they  would  have  driven 
them  to  join  Hannibal  in  mere  self-defence.  Yet  the  legions  in  Italy 
cost  the  government  in  pay,  food,  and  clothing,  at  the  rate  of  541,800 
denarii  a month  ; and  as  they  were  kept  on  service  throughout  tha 
year,  the  annual  expense  was  6,501,600  denarii,  or  in  Greek  money, 
reckoning  the  denarius  as  equal  to  the  drachma,  1083  Euboic  talents. 
To  meet  these  enormous  demands  on  the  treasury,  the  govermnent 
resorted  to  the  simple  expedient  of  doubling  the  year’s  taxes,  and 
calling  at  once  for  the  payment  of  one  half  of  this  amount,  leaving 
the  other  to  be  paid  at  the  end  of  the  year.  It  was  a i^trtigglc  for  life 
and  death  ; and  the  people  were  in  a.  mood  to  refuse  no  sacrifices, 
however  costly  : but  the  war  must  have  cut  off  so  many  sources  of 
wealth,  and  agriculture  itself  must  have  so  suffered  from  the  calling 
away  of  so  many  hands  from  the  cultivation  of  the  land,  that  w'e 
wonder  liow'  the  money  could  be  found,  and  how  many'  of  the  poorer 
citizens’  families  could  be  provided  with  daily  bread. 

In  addition  to  the  five  regular  armies  which  the  Romans  brought 
into  the  field  in  Italy,  an  irregular  warfare  was  also  going  on,  we 
know  not  to  what  e.xteut ; and  bands  of  peasants  and  slaves  were 
armed  in  many  parts  of  the  country  to  act  against  the  revolted  Ital- 
ians, and  to  ravage  their  territory.  For  instance,  a great  tract  of  for- 
est in  Bruttium,  as  w'e  have  seen,  was  the  domain  of  the  Roman  peo- 
ple ; this  would  be  farmed  like  all  the  other  revenues  ; and  the  pub- 
licani  who  farmed  it,  or  the  W'calthy  citizens  wdio  turned  out  cattle  to 
pasture  in  it,  would  have  large  bodies  of  slaves  emploj^ed  as  shep- 
herds, herdsmen,  and  ■woodsmen,  ■who,  when  the  Brutlian  towns  ou 
the  coast  revolted,  would  at  once  form  a guerilla  force  capable  of  do- 
ing them  great  mischief.  And  lastly,  besides  all  these  forces,  regular 
and  irregular,  the  Romans  still  held  most  of  the  principal  towns  in 
the  south  of  Italy  ; because  they  had  long  since  converted  them  into 
Latin  colonies.  JBrundisium  on  the  Ionian  sea,  Psestum  on  the  coast 
of  Lucania,  Luceria,  Veuusia,  and  Veneventum  in  the  interior,  were 
all  so  many  strong  fortresses,  garrisoned  by  soldiers  of  the  Latin 
name,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  revolted  districts  ; whilst  the  Greek 
cities  of  Cumte  and  Neapolis  in  Campania,  and  Rhegium  on  the 
Straits  of  Messina,  were  held  for  Rome  by  their  own  citizens  with  a 
devotion  no  way  inferior  to  that  of  the  Latin  colonies  themselves. 

Against  this  mass  of  enemies,  the  moment  that  they  had  learned  to 
use  their  strength,  Hannibal,  even  within  six  months  after  the  bat- 
tle of  CanntE,  was  already  contending  at  a disadvantage.  We  have 
seen  that  he  detached  two  oflicers  with  two  divisions  of  his  army, 
one  into  Lucania,  the  other  into  Bruttium,  to  encourage  the  revolt  of 
those  countries,  and  then  to  organize  their  resources  in  men  and 
money  for  the  advancement  of  die  common  cause.  Most  of  the 


54 


LIFE  OF  HAUXIBAL. 


Bruttiaus  took  up  arms  immediately  as  Hannibal’s  allies,  and  put 
themselves  under  the  command  of  his  officer,  Himilcon  ; but  Peteha, 
one  of  their  cities,  was  for  some  reason  or  other  inflexible  in  its  de- 
votion to  Rome,  and  endured  a siege  of  eleven  months,  suflEering  all 
extremities  of  famine  before  it  surrendered.  Tims  Himilcon  must 
have  been  still  engaged  in  besieging  it  long  after  the  campaisrn  was 
opened  in  the  neighborhood  of  Capua.  The  Samnites  also  hatf  taken 
up  arms,  and  apparently  were  attached  to  Hannibal’s  own  army  : 
the  return  of  their  whole  population  of  the  militaiy  age,  made  ten 
years  before  during  the  Gaulish  invasion,  had  stated  it  at  T0,0C0 
foot  and  7000  horse  ; but  the  Pentrians,  the  most  powerful  tribe  of 
their  nation,  were  still  faithful  to  Rome  ; and  the  Samnites,  like  the 
Romans  themselves,  had  been  thinned  b}'  the  slaughter  of  Thra.sy- 
menus  and  Gannas,  which  thej^  had  shared  as  their  allies.  It  is  vexa- 
tious that  we  have  no  statement  of  the  amount  of  Hannibal’s  old 
army,  any  more  than  of  the  allies  who  joined  him,  at  anj’  period  of 
the  war  later  than  the  b.attle  of  Cannaj.  His  reinforcements  from 
home,  as  we  have  seen,  were  very  trifling  ; while  his  two  divisions 
m Lucania  and  Bruttium,  and  the  garrisons  whidi  he  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  in  some  of  the  revolted  towns,  as,  for  example,  at 
Arpi  in  Apulia,  must  have  considerably  lessened  the  force  under  his 
own  personal  command.  Yet,  with  the  accession  of  the  Samnites 
and  Campanians,  it  was  probably  much  stronger  than  any  one  of  the 
Roman  armies  opposed  to  him  ; quite  as  strong  indeed,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, as  w'as  consistent  with  the  possibility  of  feeding  it. 

Before  the  winter  was  over,  Casilinum  fell.  The  garrison  had 
made  a valiant  defence,  and  yielded  at  last  to  famine  ; tliej-  were  al- 
lowed to  ransom  themselves  by  pa3'ing  each  man  seven  ounces  of 
gold  for  his  life  and  liberty.  The  plunder  which  they  had  won  from 
the  old  inhabitants  enabled  them  to  discharge  this  large  sum  ; and 
thej'  were  then  allowed  to  march  out  unhurt,  and  retire  to  Cumin. 
Casilinum  again  became  a Campanian  town  ; but  its  important  posi- 
tion, at  once  covering  Capua,  and  securing  a passage  over  the  Vul- 
turnus,  induced  Hannibal  to  garrison  it  with  seven  hundred  soldiers 
of  his  own  armj'. 

The  season  for  active  operations  was  now  arrived.  The  three 
Roman  armies  of  Fabius,  Gracchus,  and  IMarcellus,  had  taken  up 
their  positions  round  Campania ; and  Hannibal  marched  out  of 
Capua,  and  encamped  his  armj^  on  the  mountain  above  it,  on  that 
same  Tifata  whei-e  the  Samnites  had  so  often  taken  post  in  old  times 
when  thej' were  preparing  to  invade  the  Campanian  plain.  Tifata  did 
not  then  exhibit  that  bare  and  parched  appearance  which  it  has  now  ; 
the  soil,  which  has  accumulated  in  the  plain  below,  so  as  to  have 
risen  several  feet  above  its  ancient  level,  has  been  w-ashcddown  in 
the  course  of  centuries,  and  after  the  destruction  of  its  protecting 
woods,  from  the  neighboring  mountains;  and  Tifaht  in  Hannibal’s 
time  furnished  grass  in  abundance  for  his  cattle  in  its  numerous 


ilFE  OF  HANNIBAU 


55 


glades,  and  offered  cool  and  healthy  summer  qtiartcrs  for  his  men. 
There  he  lay  waiting  for  some  opportunity  of  striking  a blow  against 
his  enemies  around  him,  and  oageriy  watching  the  progress  of  his 
intrigues  -ftith  the  Tarentines,  and  his  negotiations  with  the  king  of 
Macbdon.  A party  at  Tarentum  began  to  open  a correspondence 
with  him  immediately  after  the  battle  of  CaniiBe  ; and  since  he  had 
been  in  Campania  he  had  received  an  embassy  from  Philip,  king  of 
Macedon,  and  had  concluded  an  alliance,  offensive  and  defensive, 
with  the  amlMSsadors,  who  acted  with  full  powers  in  their  master’s 
oame.  Such  were  his  prospects  on  one  side,  whilst,  if  he  looked  west- 
ward and  southwest,  he  saw  Sardinia  in  open  revolt  against  Rome  ; 
and  in  Sicil}^  the  death  of  Iliero  at  the  age  of  ninety,  and  the  succession 
of  his  grandson  Hieronymus,  an  ambitious  and  inexperienced  youth. 
Were  detaching  Syracuse  also  from  the  Roman  alliance.  Hannibal 
had  already  received  an  embassy  from  Hieronymus,  to  which  he  had 
replied  by  sending  a Carthaginian  officer  of  his  own  name  to  Sicily, 
and  two  Syracusan  brother's,  Hippocrates  and  Epicydes,  who  had 
long  served  with  him  in  Italy  and  in  Spain,  being  in  fact  Cartha- 
ginians by  their  mother’s  side,  and  having  become  naturalized  at 
Carthage,  .since  Agathocles  had  banished  their  grandfather,  and  their 
father  had  married  and  settled  in  his  place  of  exile.  Thus  the  effect 
of  the  battle  of  Cannae  seemed  to  be  shaking  the  whole  fabric  of  the 
Roman  dominion  ; their  provinces  were  revolting  ; their  firmest  allies 
were  deserting  them  ; whilst  the  king  of  Macedon  himself,  the  suc- 
cessor of  Alexander,  was  throwing  the  weight  of  his  power,  and  of 
all  his  acquired  and  inherited  glory,  into  the  scale  of  their  enemies. 
Seeing  the  fruit  of  his  work  thus  fast  ripening,  Hannibal  sat  quietly 
on  the  summit  of  Tifata,  to  break  forth  like  the  lightning  flash  when 
the  storm  should  be  fully  gathered. 

Thus  the  summer  of  539  was  like  a breathing-time,  in  which  both 
parties  were  looking  at  each  other,  and  considering  each  other’s  re- 
sources, whilst  they  were  recovering  strength  after  their  past  efforts, 
and  preparing  for  a renewal  of  the  struggle.  Fabius,  with  the 
authority  of  the  senate,  issued  an  order,  calling  on  the  inhabitants  of 
all  the  country  which  either  actually  was,  or  was  likely  to  become, 
the  seat  of  war,  to  clear  their  corn  off  the  ground,  and  carry  it  into 
the  fortified  cities,  before  the  first  of  June,  threatening  to  lay  waste 
the  land,  to  sell  the  slaves,  and  burn  the  farm  buildings,  of  any  one 
who  should  disobey  the  order.  In  the  utter  confusion  of  the  Roman 
calendar  at  this  period,  it  is  difficult  to  know  whether  in  any  given 
year  it  was  in  advance  of  the  true  time  or  behind  it  ; so  that  we 
can  scarcely  tell  whether  the  corn  was  only  to  be  got  in  when  ripe 
without  needless  delay,  or  whether  it  was  to  be  cut  when  green,  lest 
Hannibal  should  use  it  as  forage  for  his  cavalrj^  But  at  any  rate 
Fabius  was  now  repeating  the  system  which  he  had  laid  down  in  his 
dictatorship,  and  hoped  by  wasting  ihe  country  to  oblige  Hannibal  to 
retreat ; for  his  means  of  transport  were  not  sufficient  for  him  to  feed 


LIFE  OF  HAKXIBAL. 


&n 

his  army  from  a distance  ; hence,  ■\viien  the  resources  i»  his  imme 
diate  neighborhood  were  exhausted,  lie  was  obliged  to  move  else- 
where. 

Meanwhile  Gracchus  had  crossed  the  Yulturnus  near  its  mouth, 
and  was  now  at  Liternum,  busily  employed  in  exercising  and  train- 
ing his  heterogeneous  army.  Tlie  several  Campanian  cities  were  ac- 
customed to  hold  a joint  festival  every  year  at  a place  called  Ilamie. 
only  three  miles  from  Cuime.  These  festivals  were  seasons  of  gen- 
eral truce,  .so  that  the  citizens  even  of  hostile  nations  met  at  then: 
safely  : the  government  of  Capua  announced  to  the  Cumaians,  that 
their  chief  magistrate  and  all  their  senators  would  appear  at  llama- 
as  usual  on  the  day  of  the  solemnit}’' ; and  they  invited  the  senate  of 
Cumre  to  meet  them.  At  the  same  time  they  said  that  an  anned  force 
would  be  present  to  repel  any  interruption  from  the  Romans.  The 
Cumasans  informed  Gracchus  of  this  ; and  he  attacked  the  Capuans 
in  the  night,  wdien  they  were  in  such  perfect  .security  that  thew  had 
not  even  fortified  a camp,  but  Avere  sleeping  in  the  open  country,  and 
massacred  about  2000  of  them,  among  -whom  was  3Iaiius  Alfiiis,  the 
•supreme  magistrate  of  Capua.  The  Romans  charge  the  Capuans 
with  having  meditated  treachery  against  the  Cumaeans,  and  say  that 
the}^  were  caught  in  their  own  snare  ; but  this  could  only  be  a sus- 
IJiciou,  whilst  the  overt  acts  of  violence  were  their  own.  Hannibal  no 
sooner  heard  of  this  disaster,  then  he  descended  from  Tifata,  and 
hastened  to  Plain®,  in  the  hope  of  provoking  the  enemy  to  haPle  in 
the  confidence  of  their  late  success.  But  Gracchus  was  too  wary  to 
be  so  tempted,  and  had  retreated  in  good  time  to  Cum®,  where  he  lay 
safe  within  the  w'alls  of  the  town.  It  is  said  that  llannibal.  having 
supplied  himself  with  all  thing.s  necessary  for  a siege,  attacked  the 
place  in  form,  and  was  repulsed  with  loss,  so  that  he  returned  de- 
feated to  his  camp  at  Tifata.  A consular  army  defending  the  walls  of  a 
fortified  town  was  not  indeed  likely  to  be  beaten  in  an  assault ; and 
neither  could  a maritime  town,  with  the  sea  open,  be  easily  starved  ; 
nor  could  llannibal  linger  befor  e it  safely,  as  Fabius,  with  a second 
consular  army,  was  preparing  to  cross  the  Yulturnus. 

Casilinunr  being  held  by  the  euenr}',  P^abius  was  obliged  to  cross  at  a 
higher  point  behind  the  nrountains,  nearly  opposite  to  Ailif®  ; and  he 
then  descended  the  left  bank  to  the  confluence  of  the  Calor  with  the 
Yulturnus,  crossed  the  Calor,  and  passing  between  Taburnus  and  the 
mountains  above  Caserta  and  ^laddaloni,  stormed  the  town  of  Sati- 
cula,  and  joined  jMarcellus  in  his  camp  above  Suessula.  lie  was 
agairr  anxious  for  Nola,  where  the  popular  party  were  said  to  be  still 
plotting  the  surrender  of  the  town  to  llannibal  : to  stop  this  mischief, 
he  sent  Marcellus  with  his  whole  army  to  garrison  Nola,  whilst  he 
himself  took  his  place  in  the  camp  above  Suessula.  Gracchus  on  his 
side  advanced  from  Cum®  towards  Capua  ; so  that  three  Roman 
armies,  amounting  in  all  to  about  sixty  thousand  men,  were  on  the 
left  blink  of  the  Yulturnus  together  ; and  all,  so  far  as  appears,  in 


LIFE  OF  HAFruriBAL. 


57 


free  communicatir'  with  each  other.  They  ava.,^  »nemselves  of 
their  numbers  anr’.  their  position,  to  send  plundering  parties  out  on 
iheir  rear  to  overra  i the  lands  of  the  revolted  Samnites  and  Hirpi, 
nians  ; and  as  die  lest  troops  of  both  these  nations  v/ere  with  Hanni- 
bal on  Tifata,  no  force  was  left  at  home  sufficient  to  check  the  en- 
emy’s incursions.  Accordingly  the  complaints  of  the  sufferers  were 
loud,  and  a deputation  was  sent  to  Hannibal  imploring  him  to  protect 
his  allies. 

Alre>>dy  Hannibal  felt  that  the  Roman  generals  understood  their 
business,  and  had  learned  to  use  their  numbers  wisely.  On  grounU 
where  ids  cavalry  could  act,  he  would  not  have  feared  to  engage 
their  three  armies  together  ; but  when  they  were  amongst  mountains, 
or  behind  walls,  his  cavahy  were  useless,  and  he  could  not  venture  to 
attack  them  ; besides,  he  did  not  wish  to  expose  the  territory  of 
Capua  to  their  ravages  ; and,  therefore,  he  did  not  choose  lightly  to 
move  from  Tifata.  But  the  prayers  of  the  Samnites  were  urgent  ; 
his  partisans  in  Nola  might  require  his  aid,  or  might  be  able  to  admit 
him  into  the  town  ; and  his  expected  reinforcement  of  cavahy  and 
elephants  from  Carthage  had  landed  safel}'  in  Bruttium,  and  was  on 
its  way  to  join  him,  which  the  position  of  Fabius  and  jMarcellus  might 
render  difficult,  if  he  made  no  movement  to  favor  it.  He  therefore 
left  Tifata,  advanced  upon  Nola,  and  timed  his  operation  so  well 
that  his  reinforcements  arrived  at  the  moment  wdien  he  was  before 
Nola  ; and  neither  Fabius  nor  iSlarcellus  attempted  to  prevent  their 
junction. 

Thus  encouraged,  and  perhaps  not  aware  of  the  strength  of  the 
garrison,  Hanuihal  not  only  overran  the  territory  of  Nola,  but  sur- 
rounded the  town  with  his  soldiers,  in  the  hojie  of  taking  it  by 
escalade.  Marcellus  was  alike  watchful  and  bold  ; he  threw  open 
the  gates  and  r/nde  a sudden  sally,  by  ^rhich  he  drove  back  the  en- 
emy within  their  camp  ; and  this  success,  together  with  bis  frank 
and  popular  hearing,  won  him,  it  is  said,  the  affections  of  all  parties  at 
Nola,  and  put  a stop  to  all  intrigues  within  the  walls.  A more  im- 
portant c^nsecpience  of  this  action  was  the  desertion  of  above  twelve 
hundred  men — Spanish  foot  and  Numidian  horse — from  Hannibal’s 
army  tc  ihe  Romans  ; as  we  do  not  find  that  their  example  was  fol- 
lowed by  others,  it  is  probable  that  they  were  not  Hannibal’s  old  sol- 
diers, but  some  of  the  troops  which  had  just  joined  him,  and  which 
could  not  as  yet  have  felt  the  spell  of  his  personal  ascendency.  Still 
their  treason  naturally  made  him  uneasjg  and  would  for  the  moment 
excite  a general  suspicion  in  the  army  ; the  summer  too  was  drawing 
to  a close  ; and  wishing  to  relieve  Capua  from  the  burden  of  feeding 
his  troops,  he  marched  away  into  Apulia,  and  fixed  his  quarters  for 
the  winter  near  Arpi.  Gracchus,  with  one  consular  army,  followed 
him  ; whilst  Fabius,  after  having  ravaged  the  country  round  Capua,, 
and  carried  off  the  green  corn,  as  soon  as  it  was  high  enough  out  of 
the  ground,  to  his  camp  above  Suessula,  to  furnish  winter  food  foi  ' 


58 


LIFE  O 


IBAL. 


liis  cavalry,  quartered  his  own  army  there  for  the  winter,  and  ordered 
Marcellus  to  retain  a sufficient  force  to  secure  IN'ola,  and  to  send  the 
rest  of  liis  men  home  to  he  disbanded. 

Thus  the  campaign  was  ended,  and  Hannibal  had  not  marked  it 
with  a victory.  The  Romans  had  employed  their  forces  so  wisely, 
that  they  had  forced  him  to  remain  mostly  on  the  defensive  ; and  his 
two  offensive  operations  against  Cumse  and  against  Xola  had  both 
been  baffled.  In  Sardinia,  flieir  success  had  been  brilliant  and  de- 
cisive. Fortune  in  another  quarter  served  the  Romans  no  less  eflectu- 
«flj'.  The  Macedonian  ambassadors,  after  liaving  concluded  their 
treaty  with  Hannibal  at  Tifata,  made  their  way  back  into  Bruttium 
in  safety,  and  embarked  to  return  to  Greece.  But  their  ship  was 
taken  off  the  Calabrian  coast  by  tlie  Roman  squadron  on  that  station  ; 
and  tlie  ambassadors,  with  all  their  papers,  were  sent  prisoners  to 
Rome.  A vessel  wliich  liad  been  of  their  company  escaped  the 
Romans,  and  informed  the  king  what  liad  happened.  He  was 
obliged,  therefore,  to  send  a second  embassy  to  Hannibal,  as  the 
former  treaty  had  never  reached  him  ; and,  although  this  second  mis- 
sion w^ent  and  returned  safeh',  yet  the  lo.ss  of  time  was  irreparable, 
and  nothing  could  be  done  till  another  year.  Meanwhile  the 
Romans,  thus  timely  made  aware  of  the  king’s  intentions,  resolved 
to  And  such  employment  for  him  at  home  as  should  prevent  his  in- 
vading Italy'.  M.  Valerius  Laivinus  was  to  take  the  command  of  the 
fleet  at  Tarentum  and  Brundisium,  and  to  cross  the  Ionian  Gulf  in 
order  to  rouse  the  iEtolians  and  the  barbarian  chieffs  whose  tribes 
bordered  on  Philip’s  western  frontier,  and,  with  such  other  allies  as 
could  be  engaged  in  the  cause,  to  form  a Greek  coalition  against 
Macedon. 

These  events,  and  the  continued  successes  of  their  army'  in  Spain, 
revived  the  spirits  of  the  Romans,  and  encouraged  them  to  make  still 
greater  sacrifices,  in  the  hope  that  they'  would  not  be  made  in  vain. 
Whilst  the  commonwealth  was  making  cxtraordinaiy  efforts,  it  was 
of  the  last  importance  that  they'  should  not  be  wasted  by'  incompetent 
leaders,  either  at  home  or  abroad.  Gracchus  was  watching  IIamiil)al 
in  Apulia,  so  that  Fabius  went  to  Rome  to  hold  the  comitia.  It  was 
not  by  accident,  doubtless,  that  he  had  previously  sent  home  to  fix 
the  day  of  the  meeting,  or  that  his  own  arrival  was  so  nicely  timed, 
that  he  reached  Rome  when  the  tribes  were  actually  met  in  the  Cam- 
pus Martins  ; thus,  without  entering  the  city',  he  passed  along  under 
the  walls,  and  took  his  place  as  presiding  magistrate,  at  the  comitia, 
while  his  Actors  still  bore  the  naked  axe  in  the  midst  of  their  faces, 
the  well-known  sign  of  that  absolute  power  which  the  consul  enjoyed 
everywhere  out  of  Rome.  Fabius,  in  concert  no  doubt  with  (J.  Ful- 
vius  and  T.  Manlius,  and  other  leading  senators,  had  already  deter- 
mined who  were  to  be  consuls  : when  the  first  century,  in  the  free 
exercise  of  its  choice,  gave  its  vofe  in  favor  of  T.  Otacilius  and  M. 
^SoSmilius  Regillus,  he  at  once  stopped  the  election,  and  told  tho 


LIFE  OF  HAiOiflBAL. 


58 


people  that  this- was  no  time  to  choose  ordinary  consuls  ; that  the'’’ 
were  electing  generals  to  oppose  Haunil)al,  and  should  fix  upon  those 
men  under  whom  they  would  most  gladly  risk  their  sons’  lives  and 
their  own,  if  they  stood  at  that  moiment  on  the  eve  of  battle.  “ Where- 
fore, crier,”  he  concluded,  “ call  back  the  century  to  give  its  votes 
over  again.” 

Otacilius,  who  was  present,  although  he  had  married  Fabius’ 
niece,  protested  loudly  against  this  interference  with  the  votes  of  the 
people,  and  charged  Fabius  with  trying  to  procure  his  own  re- 
election.  Tlie  old  man  had  always  Ijeen  so  famous  for  the  gentleness 
of  his  nature,  that  he  was  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  ‘'the 
Lamb  but  now  he  acted  with  the  decision  of  Q.  Fulvius  or  T. 
Manlius  ; he  peremptorily  ordered  Otacilius  to  be  silent,  and  bade 
him  remember  that  his  lictors  carried  Ihe  naked  axe  : the  century 
was  called  back,  :md  now  gave  its  voice  for  Q.  Fabius  and  111.  Mar- 
celhis.  All  the  centuries  of  all  the  tribes  unanimously  confirmed 
tins  choice.  Q.  Fulvius  was  also  re-elected  prfctor  ; and  the  senate 
by  a special  vote  continued  him  in  the  praetorship  of  the  city,  an 
office  which  put  him  at  the  head  of  the  home  government. 

The  election  of  the  other  tdiree  prretors,  it  seems,  was  left  free  ; so 
the  people,  as  they  could  not  have  Otacilius  for  their  consul,  gave  him 
one  of  the  remaining  priietorships,  and  bestowed  the  other  two  on 
Fabius,  the  consul’s  son,  who  was  then  curule  sedile,  and  on 
P.  Cornelius  Leutulus. 

Great  as  the  exertions  of  the  commonwealth  had  been  in  the  pre- 
ceding year,  they  were  still  greater  this  year.  Ten  legions  were  to  be 
employed  in  different  parts  of  Italy,  disposed  as  follows  : Gales,  and 
the  camp  above  Suessula  and  Nola,  were  again  to  be  the  head- 
quarters of  the  two  consuls,  each  of  whom  was  to  command  a regular 
consular  army  of  two  legions.  Gracchus, with  proconsular  power,  was 
to  keep  his  own  two  iegions,  and  was  at  present  wintering  near 
Hannibal  in  the  north  of  Apulia.  Q.  Fabius,  one  of  the  new  prajtors, 
was  to  be  ready  to  enter  Apulia  with  an  army  of  equal  strength,  so 
soon  as  Graceiius  should  be  called  into  Lucauia  and  Samnium,  to 
take  part  in  the  active  operations  of  the  campaign.  C.  Varro,  with 
his  single  legion,  was  still  to  hold  Picenum  ; and  M.  Lievinus,  also 
with  proconsular  power,  was  to  remain  at  Brundisium  with  another 
'^ngle  legion.  The  two  city  legions  served  as  a sort  of  depot,  to  re- 
cruit the  armies  in  the  field  in  case  of  need  ; and  there  was  a large 
armed  population,  serving  as  garrisons  in  the  Latin  colonies,  and  in 
other  important  posts  in  various  parts  of  the  country,  the  amount  of 
which  it  is  not  possible  to  estimate.  Nor  can  we  calculate  the  num- 
bers of  the  guerilla  bands,  which  were  on  toot  in  Lucauia,  Bruttium, 
and  possibly  in  Samnium,  and  which  hindered  Hannibal  from  having 
the  whole  resources  of  those  countries  at  his  disposal.  The  Roman 
party  was  nowhere  probably  altogether  extinct.  Wealthy  Lucanians, 
who  were  attached  to  Rome,  would  muster  their  slaves  and  peas* 


LIFE  HAFTKIBAL. 


antry,  and  either  by  themselves,  or  getting  some  Eoman  officer  to 
head  them,  would  ravage  the  lands  of  the  Carthaginian  party,  and 
carry  on  a continued  harassing  warfare  against  the  towns  or  districts 
whicli  had  joined  Hannibal.  Thus  the  whole  south  of  Italy  was  one 
wide  flood  of  war,  the  waters  were  everywhere  dashing  and  eddying, 
and  running  in  cross  currents  innumerable ; whilst  the  regular 
armies,  like  the  channels  of  the  rivers,  held  on  their  wa}',  distinguish- 
able amidst  the  chaos  by  their  greater  rapidity  and  power. 

Plannibal  watched  this  mass  of  war  with  the  closest  attention.  Tc 
nake  head  against  it  directly  being  impo.ssible,  his  business  was  to 
.'nark  his  opportunities,  to  strike  wherever  there  was  an  opening  ; and 
being  sure  that  the  enemy  would  not  dare  to  attack  him  on  his  own 
ground,  he  might  maintain  his  army  in  Italy  for  an  indefinite  time, 
whilst  Carthage,  availing  herself  of  the  distraction  of  her  enemj"’s 
power,  renewed  her  efl'orts  to  conquer  tipain,  and  recover  Sicilj’. 
lie  hoped  ere  long  to  win  Tarentum  ; and,  if  left  to  his  own  choice, 
he  would  probably  have  moved  thitlicr  at  once,  when  he  broke  up 
from  his  winter  quarters  ; but  the  weakness  or  fears  of  the  Campa- 
nians hung  w’ith  encumbering  weight  upon  him  ; and  an  earnest 
request  w'as  sent  to  him  from  Capua,  calling  on  him  to  hasten  to  its 
defence,  lest  the  tw'o  consular  armies  should  besiege  it.  Accordingly 
he  broke  up  from  his  winter  quarters  at  Arpi,  and  marched  once  more 
into  Campania,  where  he  established  his  army  as  before  on  the  sum- 
mit of  Tifata. 

The  perpettial  carelessness  and  omissions  in  Livy’s  narrative,  drawn 
as  it  is  from  various  sources,  w ith  no  pains  to  make  one  part  corre- 
spond with  another,  render  it  a work  of  extreme  difficulty  to  present 
an  account  of  these  operations,  wiiich  shall  be  at  once  minute  and 
intelligible.  We  also  miss  that  notice  of  chronological  details  wiiich 
is  essential  to  the  history  of  a complicated  campaign.  Even  the  year 
in  which  important  events  happened  is  simretimes  doubtful ; yet  w"; 
want  not  to  tix  the  3'ear  only,  but  the  mouth,  that  we  maj'  arrange 
each  action  in  its  proper  order.  When  Hannibal  set  out  on  Ids  march 
into  Campania,  Fabius  was  still  at  Home  ; but  the  two  new  legions 
which  were  to  form  his  arm}^  wmre  ahead}’  assembled  at  Cales  ; and 
Fabius,  on  hearing  of  Hannibal’s  approach,  set  out  iustantl}’  to  take 
the  command,  tiis  old  army,  w’hich  had  wintered  in  the  camp  above 
Suessula,  had  apparently’  been  transferred  to  his  colleague,  Marcel- 
lus  ; and  a considerable  force  had  been  left  at  the  close  of  the  last 
campaign  to  garrison  Nola.  Fabius,  however,  wished  to  have  three 
Eoman  armies  co-operatmg  with  each  other,  as  had  been  the  case  the 
year  before  ; and  he  sent  orders  to  Gracchus  to  move  forw’ard  from 
Apulia,  and  to  occupy’  Beneventum  ; whilst  his  son,  Q.  Fabius,  the 
prajtor,  wutli  a fourth  army,  was  to  supply  the  place  of  Gracchus,  at 
Luceria.  It  seemed  as  if  Hannibal,  having  once  entered  Campania, 
was  to  be  hemmed  in  on  eveiy  side,  and  not  permitted  to  escape 
but  allege  movements  of  the  Roman  armies  induced  him  to  call  Hannc 


LIFE  OF  HAKNIBAL. 


61 


to  liis  aid,  the  officer  who  commanded  in  Lucania  and  Bruttium,  and 
who,  with  a small  force  of  N umidian  cavalry,  had  an  auxiliary  army 
under  his  orders,  consistiui^  chieliy  of  Italian  allies,  llanno  advanced 
accordingly  in  the  direction  of  Beneveutum,  to  watch  the  army  of 
Clracchas,  and,  if  an  opportunity  offered,  to  bring  it  to  action. 

Meanwhile,  Hannibal,  having  left  some  of  his  best  troops  to  main- 
tain his  camp  at  Tifata,  and  probably  to  protect  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  Capua,  descended  into  the  plain  towards  the  coast,  partly 
in  the  hope  of  surprising  a f ortiticd  post  which  the  Homans  had  lately 
Gstablished  at  Puteoli,  and  partly  to  ravage  the  territory  of  Cumaj  and 
Neapolis.  But  the  avowed  object  of  his  expedition  was  to  offer  sac- 
rifice to  the  powers  of  the  unseen  world,  on  the  banks  of  the  dreaded 
lake  of  Avernus.  That  crater  of  an  old  volcano,  where  the  very 
soil  still  seemed  to  breathe  out  fire,  while  the  unbroken  rim  of  its  basin 
was  covered  with  the  uncleared  masses  of  the  native  woods,  was  the 
subject  of  a thousand  mysterious  stories,  and  was  regarded  as  one  of 
those  spots  where  the  lower  world  approached  most  nearly  to  the 
light  of  day,  and  where  offerings,  paid  to  the  gods  of  the  dead,  were 
most  surely  acceptable.  Such  worship  was  amain  part  of  the  na- 
tional religion  of  the  Carthaginians  ; and  Hannibal,  whose  latest  act 
before  he  set  out  on  his  great  expedition,  had  been  a journey  to 
Gades,  to  sacrifice  to  the  god  of  his  fathers,  the  Hercules  of  Tyre, 
visited  the  lake  of  Avernus,, it  is  probable,  cpiite  as  much  in  sincere 
devotion  as  in  order  to  mask  his  design  of  attacking  Puteoli. 
Whilst  he  was  engaged  in  his  sacrifice,  five  noble  citizens  of  Tarentum 
came  to  him,  entreating  him  to  lead  his  army  into  theff  country,  and 
engaging  that  the  city  should  be  surrendered  as  soon  as  his  standvird 
should  be  visible  from  the  walls.  He  listened  to  their  invitation  gladly  ; 
they  offered  him  one  of  the  richest  cities  in  Italy,  with  an  excellent 
harbor,  equalW  convenient  for  his  own  communication  with  Carthage, 
and  for  the  reception  of  the  fleet  of  his  Macedonian  allies,  whom  he 
was  constantly  expecting  to  welcome  in  Italy.  He  promised  that  he 
would  soon  be  at  Tarentum  ; and  the  Tarentines  returned  home  to 
prepare  their  plans  against  his  arrival. 

With  this  prospect  before  him,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  engage 
in  any  serious  enterprise  in  Campania.  Finding  that  he  could  not 
surprise  Puteoli,  he  ravaged  the  lauds  of  the  Cumreaus  and  Neapoli- 
tans. According  to  the  ever-suspicious  stories  of  the  exploits  o-f 
Marcell  us,  he  made  a third  attempt  upon  Nola,  and  was  a third  lime 
repulsed,  Marcellus  having  called  down  the  army  from  the  camp 
above  Suessula  to  assist  him  in  defending  the  town.  Then,  says  the 
writer  whom  Livy  copied,  despairing  of  taking  a place  which  he  had 
so  often  attacked  in  vain,  he  marched  off  at  once  towards  Tarentum. 
The  truth  probably  is,  that,  finding  a complete  consular  army  in 
Nola,  and  having  left  his  light  cavalry  and  some  of  the  flower  of  his 
infantry  in  the  camp  on  Tifata,  he  had  no  thought  of  attacking  the 
town,  but  returned  to  Tifata  to  take  the  troops  from  thence  ; and 


62 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


having  done  this,  and  stayed  long  enough  in  Campania  for  the  (j«  ^u- 
ans  to  get  in  their  harvest  safely,  he  set  off  on  his  march  for  Taren- 
tum.  None  of  the  Roman  armies  attempted  to  stop  him,  or  so  much 
as  ventured  to  follow  him.  Fabius  and  Marcellus  took  advantage  of 
his  absence  to  besiege  Casilinum  with  their  united  forces  ; Gracchus 
kept  wisely  out  of  his  reach,  whilst  he  swept  on  like  a fiery  flood, 
laying  waste  all  before  him  from  Tifata  to  the  shores  of  the  Ionian 
Sea.  He  certainly  did  not  burn  or  plunder  the  lands  of  his  own 
allies,  either  iu  Sainnium  or  Lucania  ; but  his  march  laj-  near  tho 
Latin  colony  of  Venusia,  and  the  Lucanians  and  Samuites  in  hi.' 
army  would  carefully  point  out  those  districts  which  belongrd  to  their 
countrymen  of  the  Roman  party  ; above  all,  those  ample  tracts 
which  the  Romans  had  wrested  from  their  fathers,  and  which  were 
now  farmed  by  the  Roman  publicaui,  or  occupied  bj'  Roman  citi- 
zens. Over  all  these,  no  doubt,  the  African  and  Numidian  horso 
poured  far  and  wide,  and  the  fire  and  sword  did  their  work. 

T et,  after  all,  Hannibal  missed  his  pre\’.  Three  days  before  he 
reached  Tarentum,  a Roman  officer  arrived  in  the  cit}',  whom  31. 
Valerius  Lsevinus  had  sent  iu  haste  from  Brundisium  to  provide  for 
its  defence.  There  was  probably  a small  Roman  garrison  in  tho 
citadel  to  support  him  in  ca.se  of  need  ; but  the  aristocratical  party 
in  Tarentum  itself,  as  elsewhere,  was  attached  to  Rome  ; and  with 
their  aid,  Livius,  the  officer  whom  Laevinus  had  sent,  effectually 
repressed  the  opposite  party,  embodied  the  population  of  the  town, 
and  made  them  keep  guard  on  the  walls,  and  selecting  a certain 
number  of  persons,  whose  fidelity  he  most  suspected,  sent  them  off  as 
hostages  to  Rome.  When  the  Carthaginian  armj',  therefore,  ap- 
peared before  the  walls,  no  movement  was  made  in  their  favor,  and 
after  waiting  a few  days  in  vain,  Hannibal  was  obliged  to  retreat. 
His  disappointment,  however,  did  not  make  him  lose  his  temper  ; he 
spared  the  Tarentine  territory,  no  less  when  leaving  it  than  when  he 
first  entered  it,  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  city,  a moderation  which 
doubtless  produced  its  effect,  and  confirmed  the  Tarculines  in  the 
belief  that  his  professions  of  friendship  had  been  made  in  honesty. 
But  he  carried  off  all  the  corn  which  he  could  find  iu  the  neighborhood 
of  Metapontum  audHeraclea,  and  then  returned  to  Apulia,  and  fixed 
his  quarters  for  the  winter  at  Salapia.  His  cavalry  overran  all  the 
forest  country  above  Brundisium,  anti  drove  off  such  numbers  of 
horses  which  were  kept  there  to  pasture,  that  he  was  enabled  to  have 
four  thousand  broken  iu  for  the  service  of  his  army. 

Meanwhile  the  Roman  consuls  in  Campania  were  availing  them- 
sielves  of  his  absence  to  press  the  siege  of  Casilinum.  The  place  was 
80  close  to  Capua,  that  it  was  feared  the  Capuans  would  attempt  to 
relieve  it ; jMarcellus,  therefore,  with  a second  consular  army,  ad- 
vanced from  Nola  to  cover  the  siege.  The  defence  was  very  obsti- 
nate, for  there  were  seven  hundred  of  Hauuibars  soldiers  in  the 
place,  and  two  thousand  Capuans,  and  Fabius,  it  is  said,  was  dis- 


LIFE  OF  HANXIBAL. 


63 


posed  to  raise  the  siege,  hut  liis  colleague  reminded  him  of  the  loss 
of  reputation,  if  so  small  a town  were  allowed  to  baiBe  two  consular 
armies,  and  the  siege  was  continued.  At  last  the  Capuans  offered  to 
Fahius  to  surrender  the  town,  on  condition  of  being  allowed  to  retire 
to  Capua  ; and  it  appears  that  he  accepted  the  terms,  and  that  the 
garrison  had  begun  to  march  out,  when  Marcellus  broke  in  upon 
them,  seized  the  open  gate  from  which  they  were  issuing,  cut  them 
down  right  and  left,  and  forced  his  way  into  the  city  Fahius,  it  is 
said,  was  able  to  keep  his  faith  to  no  more  than  fifty  of  the  garrison, 
who  had  reached  his  quarters  before  Marcellus  arrived,  and  whom 
he  sent  unharmed  to  Capua.  The  rest  of  the  Capuans  and  of  Han- 
nibal’s soldiers  were  sent  prisoners  to  Rome,  and  the  inhabitants  were 
divided  amongst  the  neighboring  cities,  to  be  kept  in  custody  till  the 
senate  should  determine  their  fate. 

After  this  scandalous  act  of  treachery,  Marcellus  returned  to  N"ola, 
and  there  remained  inactive,  being  confined,  it  was  said,  by  illness, 
till  the  senate,  before  the  end  of  the  summer,  sent  him  over  to  Sicily 
to  meet  the  danger  that  was  gathering  there.  Fahius  advanced  into 
Samnium,  combining  his  operations,  it  seems,  with  his  son,  who 
commanded  a praetorian  army  in  Apulia,  and  with  Gracchus,  who 
was  in  Lucania,  and  whose  army  formed  the  link  between  the  praetor 
in  Apulia  and  his  father  in  Samnium.  These  three  armies  were  so 
formidable,  that  Hanno,  the  Carthaginian  commander  in  Lucania, 
could  not  maintain  his  ground,  but  fell  back  towards  Bruttium,  leav- 
ing his  allies  to  their  own  inadequate  means  of  defence.  Accord- 
ingly the  Romans  ravaged  the  country  far  and  wide,  and  took  so 
many  towns  that  they  boasted  of  having  killed  or  captured  25,000  of 
the  enemy.  After  these  expeditions,  Fahius,  it  seems,  led  back  his 
army  to  winter  quarters  in  the  camp  above  Suessula  ; Gracchus  re- 
mained in  Lucania,  and  Fabius,  the  praetor,  wintered  at  Luceria. 

I have  endeavored  to  follow  the  operations  of  the  main  armies  on 
both  sides  throughout  the  campaign,  without  noticing  those  of 
Gracchus  and  Hanno  in  Lucania.  But  the  most  important  action  of 
the  year,  if  we  believe  the  Roman  accounts,  was  the  victory  obtained 
by  Gracchus,  near  Beneventum,  when  he  moved  thither  out  of 
Apulia  to  co-operate  with  the  consuls  in  Campania,  and  Hanno  was 
ordered  by  Hannibal  to  march  to  the  same  point  out  of  Lucania. 
Hanno,  it  is  said,  had  about  17,000  foot,  mostly  Bruttians  and 
Lucanians,  and  1200  Numidian  and  Moorish  horse  ; and  Gracchus, 
encountering  him  near  Beneventum,  defeated  him,  with  the  loss  of 
almost  all  his  infantry^  ; he  himself  and  his  cavalry  being  the  only 
part  of  the  army  that  escaped.  The  numbers,  as  usual,  are  probably 
exaggerated  immensely  ; but  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Gracchus 
gained  an  important  victory  ; and  it  was  rendered  famous  bj'  his 
giving  liberty  to  the  volunteer  slaves,  by  whose  valor  it  had  mainly 
been  won.  Some  of  these  had  behaved  ill  in  the  action,  and  were 
afraid  that  they  should  be  punished,  rather  thair  rewarded  : but 


64 


LIFE  OF  HAXXIBAL. 


Gracchus  first  set  them  all  free  without  distinction,  and  then,  sending 
for  those  who  had  misbehaved,  made  them  severally  swear  that  they 
would  eat  and  drink  standing,  so  long  as  their  militarj'  service  should 
last,  by  way  of  penance  for  their  fault.  Such  a sentence,  so  different 
from  tbe  usual  merciless  severity  of  the  Roman  discipline,  added  to 
the  general  joy  of  the  armj’  ; the  soldiers  marched  back  to  Beneven- 
tum  in  triumph  ; and  the  people  poured  out  to  meet  them,  and  en- 
treated Gracchus  that  they  might  invite  them  all  to  a public  enter- 
tainment. Tables  were  set  out  in  the  streets  ; and  the  freed  slaves 
■iltracted  every  one’s  notice  by  their  white  caps,  the  well-known  sign 
of  lb  dr  enfranchisement,  and  by  the  strange  sight  of  those  who,  in 
fulfilment  of  their  penance,  ate  standing,  and  waited  upon  theii 
tvorthier  comrades.  The  whole  scene  delighted  the  generous  and 
kind  natuie  of  Gracchus  ; to  set  free  the  slave,  and  to  relieve  the 
poor,  appti«r  to  have  been  hereditary  virtues  in  his  famOy  ; to  him, 
no  less  than  to  his  unfortunate  descendants,  beneficence  seemed  the 
liigbest  glory.  He  caused  a picture  to  be  painted,  not  of  his  victorj' 
over  Hanno,  but  of  the  feasting  of  the  enfranchised  slaves  in  the 
streets  of  Beneventum,  and  placed  it  in  the  temple  of  Liberty  on  the 
4.ventme,  which  his  father  had  built  and  dedicated. 

The  battle  of  Beneventum  obliged  Hanno  to  fall  back  into 
(jucania,  and  perhaps  as  far  as  the  confines  of  Bruttium.  But  he 
ioon  recruited  his  :umy,  the  Lucanians  and  Bruttians,  as  well  as  the 
Picentines,  who  lived  on  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  of  Salerno,  being  very 
zealous  in  the  cause  ; and  ere  long  he  revenged  his  defeat  by  a signal 
victory  over  an  :vrmy  of  Lucanians  of  the  Roman  party,  whom 
Gracchus  had  u listed  lo  act  as  an  irregular  force  against  their  coun- 
trymen of  the  opposite  faction.  Still  Hanno  was  not  tempted  to  risk 
another  battle  with  a Roman  consular  army  ; and  when  Gracchus 
advanced  from  Beneventum  into  Lucania,  he  retired  again  into 
Bruttium. 

There  seems  to  have  been  no  further  dispute  with  regard  to  the 
appointment  of  consuls.  Fabius  and  the  leading  members  of  the 
senate  appear  to  have  nominated  such  men  as  they  thought  most 
fifual  to  the  emergency  ; and  no  other  candidates  came  forward. 
Fabius  again  held  the  comitia  ; and  his  son,  Q.  Fabius,  who  w;is 
prielor  at  the  time,  was  elected  consul  together  with  Gracchus.  The 
ute  ors  were  entirely  changed.  Q.  Fulvius  was  succeeded  in  the 
hty  praetnrship  by  M.  -AtiHus  Regulus,  who  had  just  resigned  the 
censorship,  and  who  had  ali-eady  been  twice  consul  ; the  other  three 
prjetors  were  M.  -.Rmilius  Lepidus,  Cn.  Fulvius  Centumalus,  and  P. 
Sempronius  Tuditauus.  The  two  former  were  men  of  noble  families  : 
Sempronius  appears  to  have  owed  his  appointment  to  his  resolute 
conduct  at  Canna?,  when  he  cut  his  way  from  the  camp  through  the 
surrounding  enemies,  and  escaped  in  safety  to  Canusium. 

another  year  passed  over  ; and  although  the  state  of  affairs 
.-«o  stui  dark,  the  tide  seemed  to  he  on  the  turn.  Hannibal  had 


LIFE  OF  HAJS'H'IBAL. 


65 


gained  no  new  victory  ; Tarentum  had  been  saved  from  his  hands  ; 
and  Casilinum  had  been  wrested  from  him. 

The  forces  to  be  employed  in  Italy  in  the  approaching  campaign 
were  to  consist  of  nine  legions,  three  fewer  than  in  the  year  before. 
The  consuls  were  each  to  have  their  two  legions,  Gracchus  in 
Lucania,  and  Fabius  in  Apulia.  31.  .F.milius  was  to  command  two 
legions  also  in  Apulia,  havmg  his  headciuarters  at  Luceria  ; Cn. 
Fulvius  with  two  more  was  to  occupy  the  camp  above  Suessula  ; and 
Varro  was  to  remain  with  his  one  legion  in  Picenum.  Two  consular 
armies  of  two  legions  each  were  required  in  SicUy  ; one  commanded 
by  31arcellus  as  proconsul,  the  other  by  P.  Lentulus  as  propnetor : 
two  legions  were  employed  in  Cisalpine  Gaul  under  P.  Sempronius, 
and  two  in  Sardinia  under  their  old  commander,  Q.  Hucius.  31. 
Valerius  Lrevinus  retained  his  single  legion  and  his  fleet,  to  act 
against  Philip  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  Ionian  sea  : and  P.  Scipio 
and  his  brother  were  stfll  continued  in  their  command  in  Spain. 

Hannibal  passed  the  winter  at  Salapia,  where,  the  Romans  said, 
was  a lady  whom  he  loved,  and  who  became  famous  from  her  influ- 
ence over  him.  Whether  his  passion  for  her  made  him  careless  of 
everything  else,  or  whether  he  was  really  taken  by  surprise,  we 
know  not  ; but  the  neighboring  town  of  Arpi  was  attacked  by  the 
consul  Fabius,  and  given  up  to  him  by  the  inhabitants  ; and  some 
Spaniards,  who  formed  part  of  the  garrison,  entered  into  the  Roman 
service.  Gracchus  obtained  some  slight  successes  in  Lucania  ; and 
some  of  the  Bruttian  towns  returned  to  their  old  alliance  with  Rome  ; 
but  a Roman  contractor,  T.  Pomponius  Yeientanus,  who  had  been 
empowered  by  the  government  to  raise  soldiers  m Bnittium,  and  to 
employ  them  in  plundering  the  enemies’  limds,  was  rash  enough  to 
venture  a regular  action  with  Hanno,  in  which  he  was  defeated  and 
made  prisoner.  This  disaster  checked  the  reaction  in  Bruttium  for 
the  present. 

3Ieanwhiie  Hannibal’s  eyes  were  stUl  fixed  upon  Tarentum  ; and 
thither  he  marched  again  as  soon  as  he  took  the  field,  leaving  Fabius 
behind  him  in  Apulia.  He  passed  the  whole  summer  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Tarentum,  and  reduced  several  small  towns  in  the  sur- 
rounding country  : but  his  friends  in  Tarentum  made  no  movement  ; 
for  they  dared  not  compromise  the  safety  of  their  countrymen  and 
relations,  who  had  been  carried  off  as  hostages  to  Rome.  Accord- 
ingly the  season  wore  away  unmarked  by  any  memorable  action, 
Hannibal  still  lingered  in  the  country  of  the  SaUentines,  unwaUing  to 
give  up  all  hope  of  winning  the  prize  he  had  so  long  sought ; and  to 
lull  the  suspicions  of  the  Romans,  he  gave  out  that  he  was  confined 
to  his  camp  by  illness,  and  that  this  had  prevented  his  army  from  re- 
turning to  its  usual  whiter  quarters  in  Apulia. 

3Iatters  were  in  this  state  when  letters  arrived  at  Tarentum  tha: 
the  hostages,  for  whose  safety  their  friends  had  been  so  anxious,  had 
been  all  cruelly  put  to  death  at  Rome  for  having  attempted  to  escape 


66 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


from  their  captivity.  Released  in  so  shocking  a manner  from  the^t 
former  hesitation,  and  burning  to  revenge  the  blood  of  their  friends, 
Hannibal’s  partisans  no  longer  delaj’ed.  They  communicated 
secretly  with  him,  arranged  the  details  of  tlieir  attempt,  and  signed  a 
treaty  of  alliance,  by  which  he  bound  himself  to  respect  the  indepen- 
dence and  liberty  of  the  Tarentines,  and  only  stipulated  for  the  plun- 
der of  such  houses  as  were  occupied  by  Roman  citizens.  Two  j'oung 
men,  Philenienus  and  Nicou,  were  the  leaders  of  the  enterprise. 
Philemenus,  under  the  pretence  of  hunting,  had  persuaded  the  officer 
at  one  of  the  gates  to  allow  him  to  pass  in  and  out  of  the  town  by 
night  without  interruption.  He  was  known  to  be  devoted  to  his 
sport ; he  scarcely  ever  returned  without  having  caught  or  killed 
some  game  or  other  ; and  by  liberally  giving  awa}'^  what  he  had 
caught,  he  won  the  favor  and  confidence,  not  only  of  the  officer  of 
the  gate,  but  also  of  the  Roman  governor  himself,  M.  Livius  .Maca- 
tus,  a relation  of  M.  Livius  Salinator,  who  afterwards  defeated  Ilas- 
drubal,  but  a man  too  indolent  and  fond  of  good  cheer  to  be  the  gov- 
ernor of  a town  threatened  by  Hannibal.  So  little  did  Livius  suspect 
any  danger,  that  on  the  very  day  which  the  conspirators  had  ti.xed 
for  their  attempt,  and  when  Hannibal  with  ten  thou.saud  men  was 
advancing  upon  the  town,  he  had  invited  a large  party  to  meet  him 
at  the  Temple  of  the  Muses  near  the  market-place,  and  was  engaged 
from  an  early  hour  in  festivit}'. 

The  city  of  Tareutum  formed  a triangle,  two  sides  of  which  were 
washed  by  the  water  ; the  outer,  or  western  side,  b}'  the  Mediter- 
ranean ; the  inner,  or  northeastern  side,  b}"  that  remarkable  land- 
locked basin,  now  called  the  Little  Sea,  which  has  a mouth  narrower 
than  the  entrance  into  the  Norwegian  Fiords,  but  runs  deep  into  the 
land,  and  spreads  out  into  a Avide  surface  of  the  calmest  water, 
scarcely  ruffled  by  the  hardest  gales.  Exactly  at  the  mouth  of  this 
basin  Avas  a little  rocky  knoll,  forming  the  apex  of  the  triangle  of  the 
city,  and  occupied  by  the  citadel : the  city  itself  stood  on  Ioas*  and 
mostly  level  ground  ; and  its  south-eastern  Avail,  the  base  of  the  tri- 
angle, stretched  across  from  the  Little  Sea  to  the  Mediterranean. 
Thus  the  citadel  commanded  the  entrance  into  the  basin.  Avhieh  AA'as 
the  port  of  the  Tarentines  ; and  it  anus  garrisoned  by  the  Romans, 
although  many  of  the  bffleers  and  soldiers  Avere  allowed  to  lodge  in 
the  city.  All  attempts  upon  the  tOAvu  by  land  must  be  made  then 
against  the  south-eastern  side,  AAfflich  -was  separated  from  the  citadel 
by  the  aa’IioIo  length  of  the  city  ; and  there  Avas  another  circumstance 
which  AA'as  likely  to  favor  a surprise  ; for  the  Tarentines,  following 
the  direction  of  an  oracle,  as  they  said,  buried  their  dead  within  the 
city  walls  ; and  the  street  of  the  tombs  A\-as  interposed  betAveeu  the 
gates  and  the  inhabited  parts  of  the  tOAA'n.  This  the  conspirators 
turned  to  their  OAvn  purposes  : in  this  lonely  quarter  two  of  their 
number,  Nicon  and  'Tragiscus,  Avere  A\'ailiug  for  Hanuibal's  ai  rival 
Without  the  gates.  As  soon  as  they  perceived  the  signal  which  was 


LIFE  OF  HAFTKIBAL. 


67 


tO  announce  his  presence,  they,  wuh  a party  of  their  friends,  -^rere  to 
surprise  the  gates  from  within,  and  pat  tlie  guards  to  the  sword  ; 
while  others  Trad  been  left  in  the  city  to  keep  watch  near  the  museum, 
and  prevent  any  communication  from  being  made  to  the  Roman 
governor. 

The  evening  wore  away  ; the  governor’s  party  broke  up  ; and  his 
friends  attended  him  to  his  house.  On  their  way  home  they  met 
some  of  the  conspirators,  who,  to  lull  all  suspicion,  began  to  jest  with 
them,  as  though  themselves  going  home  from  a revel,  and  joining  the 
party  amidst  riotous  shouts  and  loud  laughter,  aecompanied  the 
governor  to  his  own  door.  He  went  to  rest  in  joyous  and  careless 
mood  : his  friends  were  all  gone  to  their  quarters  ; the  noise  of  rev- 
ellers returning  from  their  festivities  died  away  through  the  city  ; 
and  when  midnight  was  come,  the  conspirators  alone  were  abroad. 
They  now  divided  into  three  parties  : one  was  posted  near  the  gov- 
ernor’s house,  a second  secured  the  approaches  to  the  market-place, 
and  the  third  hastened  to  the  quarter  of  the  tombs,  to  watch  for 
Hannibal’s  signal. 

They  did  not  watch  long  in  vain  ; a Are  in  a particular  spot  with- 
out the  walls  assured  them  that  Hannibal  wus  at  hand.  They  lit  a 
fire  in  answer  ; and  presently,  as  had  been  agreed  upon,  the  fire  with- 
out the  walls  disappeared.  Then  the  conspirators  rushed  to  the  gate 
of  the  city,  surprised  it  with  ease,  put  the  guards  to  the  sword,  and 
began  to  hew  asunder  the  bar  by  which  the  gates  were  fastened.  Ho 
sooner  was  it  forced,  and  the  gates  opened,  than  Hannibal’s  soldiers 
were  seen  ready  to  enter  ; so  exactly  had  the  time  of  the  operations 
been  calculated.  The  cavalry  were  left  without  the  walls  as  a re- 
serve ; but  the  infantry,  marching  in  regular  column,  advanced 
through  the  quarter  of  tlie  tombs  to  the  inhabited  part  of  the  city. 

Meantime  Philemenus  with  a thousand  Africans  had  been  sent  to 
secure  another  gate  by  stratagem.  The  guards  were  accustomed  to 
let  him  in  at  all  hours,  whenever  he  returned  from  his  hunting  ex- 
peditions ; and  now,  when  they  heard  his  usual  whistle,  one  of  them 
went  to  the  gate  to  admit  him.  Philemenus  called  to  the  guard  from 
without  to  open  the  wicket  quickly  ; for  that  he  and  his  fi’iends  had 
killed  a huge  wild  boar,  and  could  scarcely  bear  the  weight  any 
longer.  The  guard,  accustomed  to  have  a share  in  the  spoil,  opened 
the  wicket  ; and  Philemenus,  and  three  other  conspirators,  disguised 
rs  countrymen,  stepped  in,  carrying  the  boar  between  them.  They 
instantly  killed  the  poor  guard,  as  he  was  admiring  and  feeling  their 
prize  ; and  then  let  in  about  thirty  Africans,  who  were  following 
close  behind.  With  this  force  they  mastered  the  gate-house  and 
towers,  killed  all  the  guards,  and  hewed  asunder  the  bars  of  the  main 
gates  to  admit  the  whole  column  of  Africans,  who  marched  in  on  this 
side  also  in  regular  order,  and  advanced  towards  the  market-place. 

No  sooner  had  both  Hannibal’s  columns  reached  their  destination, 
and  as  it  seems  without  exciting  any  general  alarm,  than  he  detached 


68 


LIFE  OF  HAJIFTIBAL. 


three  bodies  of  Gaulish  soldiers  to  occup3’  the  principal  streeti?  which 
led  to  the  market-place.  The  officers  in  command  of  these  troops 
had  orders  to  kill  every  Roman  wlio  fell  in  their  waj' ; hut  some 
Tarentine  conspirators  were  sent  with  each  party  to  warn  their  coun- 
trymen to  go  home  and  remain  quiet,  assuring  them  that  no  mischief 
was  intended  to  them.  The  toils  being  thus  spread,  llie  prey  was 
now  to  he  enticed  into  them.  Philemenus  and  his  friends  had  pro- 
vided some  Roman  trumpets  ; and  these  were  loudl}'  blowm,  sound- 
ing the  w'ell-known  call  to  arms  to  the  Roman  soldier.  Roused  at  this 
summons,  the  Romans  quartered  about  the  town  armed  themselves 
in  haste,  and  poured  into  the  streets  to  make  their  way  to  the  citadel. 
Rut  they  fell  in  scattered  parties  into  the  midst  of  Hannibal’s  Gauls, 
and  were  cut  dowm  one  after  another.  The  governor  alone  had  been 
more  fortunate  : the  alarm  had  reached  him  in  time  ; and  being  in 
no  condition  to  offer  any  resistance — for  he  felt,  says  Polybius,  that 
the  fumes  of  wine  were  still  overpowering  him — he  hastened  to  the 
harbor,  and  getting  on  board  a boat,  w'as  carried  safe  to  the  citadel. 

Day  at  last  dawmed,  but  did  not  quite  clear  up  the  mysterj'  of  the 
night’s  al.arm  to  the  mass  of  the  inhabitants  of  Tarentum.  The^’ 
were  safe  in  their  houses,  unmassacred,  unplundered  : the  only  blast 
of  w^ar  had  been  blown  by  a Roman  trumpet  ; j^et  Roman  soldiers 
were  lying  dead  in  the  streets,  and  Gauls  were  spoiling  their  bodies. 
Suspense  at  length  wns  ended  bj"  the  voice  of  the  public  crier  sum- 
moning the  citizens  of  Tarentum,  in  Hannibal’s  name,  to  appear 
without  their  arms  in  the  market-place  ; and  h^’  repeated  shouts  of 
“ Liberty  ! Liberty  !’’  uttered  bj'  some  of  their  own  countrymen, 
who  ran  round  the  town  calling  the  Carthaginians  their  deliverers. 
The  firm  partisans  of  Rome  made  haste  to  escape  into  the  citadel, 
wdiile  the  multitude  crowded  to  the  market-place.  Thej’  found  it 
regularly  occupied  by  Carthaginian  troops  ; and  the  great  general,  of 
whom  they  had  heard  so  much,  was  preparing  to  address  them.  He 
spoke  to  them,  in  Greek  apparentlj%  declaring  as  usual  that  he  had 
come  to  free  the  inhabitants  of  Italj’  from  the  dominion  of  Rome. 
■'  The  Tareutines  therefore  had  nothing  to  fear  ; they  should  go  home 
and  write  each  over  his  door,  a Tarentine’ s house  ; these  words  would 
be  a sufficient  security  ; no  door  so  marked  should  be  violated.  But 
the  mark  must  not  he  set  falsely'  upon  anj'  Roman’s  quarters  ; a Tareii 
tine  guilty  of  such  treason  would  be  put  to  death  as  an  enemy  ; for 
all  Roman  property  was  the  lawTul  prize  of  the  soldiers.”  Accord- 
ingly, all  houses  where  Romans  had  been  quartered  were  given  up 
to  be  plundered  ; and  the  Carthaginian  soldiers  gained  a harvest,  saj’s 
Polybius,  which  fulty  answered  their  hopes.  This  can  onty  be  ex- 
plained by  supposing  that  the  Romans  were  quartered  generall.v  in 
the  houses  of  the  wealthier  Tarentines,  who  were  attached  to  the 
Roman  alliance  ; and  that  the  plunder  was  not  the  scanty  baggage  of 
the  legionary  soldiers,  but  the  costly  furniture  of  the  richest  citizens 
in  the  greatest  city  of  southern  L i'y. 


LIFE  OF  HAinaBAL. 


69 


Thus  Tarenuim  was  won  ; hut  the  citadel  on  its  rocky  knoll  was 
still  held  by  the  Romans  ; and  its  position  at  once  threatened  the 
town,  and  shut  up  the  Tarentine  fleet  useless  in  the  harbor.  Ilanni- 
I)al  proceeded  to  sink  a ditch,  and  throw  up  a wall  along  the  side  of 
tlie  town  towards  the  citadel,  in  order  to  repress  the  sallies  of  the  gar- 
rison. While  engaged  in  these  works  he  purposely  tempted  tlie  Ro- 
mans to  a sally,  and  having  lured  them  on  to  some  distance  froru 
their  cover,  turned  fiercely  upon  them,  and  drove  them  back  with 
such  slaughter  that  their  effective  strength  was  greatly  reduced.  He 
then  hoped  to  take  the  citadel  ; but  the  garrison  was  reinforced  by 
sea  from  Metapontum,  the  Romans  withdrawing  their  troops  from 
thence  for  this  more  important  service  ; and  a successful  night  sally' 
destroyed  the  besiegers’  works,  and  obliged  them  to  trust  to  a block- 
ade. But  as  this  was  hopeless,  whilst  the  Romans  were  masters  of 
the  sea,  Hannibal  instructed  the  Tarentines  to  drag  their  ships  over- 
land, through  the  streets  of  the  city,  from  the  harbor  to  the  outer  sea  ; 
and  this  being  effected  without  difficulty',  as  the  ground  was  quite 
level,  the  Tarentine  fleet  became  at  once  effective,  and  the  sea  com- 
munications of  the  enemy  were  cut  off.  Having  thus,  as  he  hoped, 
enabled  the  Tarentines  to  deal  by  themselves  with  the  Roman  garri- 
son, he  left  a small  force  in  the  town,  and  returned  with  the  mass  of 
his  troops  to  his  winter  quarters  in  the  country  of  the  Sallentines,  or 
on  the  edge  of  Apulia. 

Hannibal  was  far  away  in  the  farthest  corner  of  Italy  : and  as  long 
as  the  citadel  of  Tarentum  held  out,  he  would  be  unwilling  to  move 
towards  Campania.  Even  if  he  should  move,  four  armies  were  ready 
to  oppose  him  ; those  of  the  two  consuls,  of  the  consul’s  brother,  Cn. 
Pulvius,  who  was  praetor  in  Apulia,  and  of  another  praetor,  C.  Clau- 
dius Nero,  who  commanded  two  legions  in  the  camp  above  Suessula. 
Besides  this  mass  of  forces,  Ti.  Gracchus,  the  consul  of  the  preceding 
year,  still  retained  his  army  as  proconsul  in  Lucania,  and  might  be 
supposed  capable  of  keeping  Hanno  and  the  army  of  Bruttium  in 
check. 

It  was  late  in  the  spring  before  the  consuls  took  the  field.  One  of 
them  succeeded  to  the  army  of  the  late  consul,  Eabius  ; the  other 
took  the  two  legions  with  which  Cn.  Fulvius  Centumulas  had  held  th« 
camp  above  Suessula.  These  armies  marching,  the  one  from  Apulia, 
the  other  from  Campania,  met  at  Bovianum : there,  at  the  back  of 
the  Matese,  in  the  country  of  the  Pentrian  Samnites,  the  faithful  allie* 
of  Rome,  the  consuls  were  making  preparations  for  the  siege  of  Ca 
pua,  and  perhaps  were  at  the  same  time  watching  the  state  of  affaire 
in  the  south,  and  the  movements  of  Hannibal.  The  Campanians  sus- 
pected that  mischief  was  coming  upon  them,  and  sent  a deputation 
to  Hannibal  praying  him  to  aid  them.  If  they'  were  to  stand  a siege, 
it  was  important  that  the  city  should  be  well  supplied  with  provi- 
sions ; and  their  own  harvest  had  been  so  insufficient,  owing  to  thr 
devastation  caused  by  the  war,  that  tliey  had  scarcely  enough  fo) 


70 


LIFE  OF  HAHNIBAL. 


their  present  consumption.  Hannibal  would  therefore  be  pleased  to 
order  that  supplies  should  he  sent  to  them  from  the  country  of  his 
Samnite  and  Lucanian  allies,  before  their  communications  were  cut 
off  by  the  presence  of  the  Eoman  armies. 

Hannibal  was  still  near  Tarentum,  whether  hoping  to  win  the  town 
.)r  the  citadel,  the  doubtful  chronologj'  of  this  period  will  not  allow 
as  to  decide.  He  ordered  Hanno,  with  the  army  of  Bruttium,  to 
move  forward  into  Samnium  ; a most  delicate  operation,  if  the  two 
constds  were  with  their  armies  at  Bovianum,  and  Gracchus  in  Luca 
uia  itself,  in  the  very  line  of  Hanno’s  march,  and  if  C.  Nero  with 
i,wo  legions  more  was  lying  in  the  camp  above  Suessula.  But  the 
army  from  Suessula  had  been  given  to  one  of  the  consuls  ; and  the 
legions  which  were  to  take  its  place  tvere  to  be  marched  from  the 
coast  of  Picenum,  and  perhaps  had  hardlj^  reached  their  destination. 
The  Lucauians  themselves  seem  to  have  found  sufficient  employment 
for  Gracchus  ; and  Hanno  moved  with  a rapidity  which  friends  and 
enemies  were  alike  unprepared  for.  He  arrived  safely  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Beneventum,  encamped  his  armj'  in  a strong  position 
about  three  miles  from  tlie  town,  and  dispatched  word  to  the  Capu- 
ans  that  they  should  instantly  send  off  everj-  carriage  and  beast  of 
burden  in  their  city,  to  carry  home  the  corn  which  he  was  going  to 
provide  for  them.  The  towns  of  the  Claudine  Samnites  emptied 
their  magazines  for  the  purpose,  and  forwarded  all  their  corn  to 
Hanno’s  camp.  Thus  far  all  prospered  ; but  the  negligence  of  the 
Capuans  ruined  everything  ; they  had  not  carriages  enough  ready  ; 
and  Hanno  was  obliged  to  w’ait  in  his  perilous  situation,  where  every 
hour’s  dela3''  was  exposing  him  to  destruction.  Beneventum  was  a 
Latin  colony — in  other  words,  a strong  Roman  garrison,  watching  all 
his  proceedings  ; from  thence  information  was  sent  to  the  consuls  at 
Bovianum  : and  Fulvius  with  his  army  instantly  set  out,  and  entered 
Beneventum  bj'  night.  There  he  found  that  the  Capuans,  with  their 
means  of  transport,  were  at  length  arrived  ; and  all  disposable  hands 
had  been  pressed  into  the  service  ; that  Hanno’s  camp  was  crowded 
with  cattle  and  carriages,  and  a mixed  multitude  of  unarmed  men, 
and  even  of  women  and  children  ; and  that  a vigorous  blow  might 
win  it  with  all  its  spoil  ; the  indefatigable  geneiarwas  absent,  scour- 
ing the  countr}'  for  additional  supplies  of  corn.  Fulvius  sallied  from 
Beneventum  a little  before  daybreak,  and  led  his  soldiers  to  assault 
Hanno’s  position.  Under  all  disadvantages  of  surprise  and  disorder, 
the  Carthaginians  resisted  so  vigorously  that  Fulvius  was  on  the 
point  of  calling  off  his  men,  when  a brave  Pelignian  officer  threw  the 
standard  of  his  cohort  over  the  enemy’s  wall,  and  desperatelj'  climbed 
the  rampart  and  scaled  the  wall  to  recover  it.  His  cohort  rushed  after 
him  : and  a Roman  centurion  then  set  the  same  example,  which  was 
followed  with  equal  alacrity.  Then  the  Romans  broke  into  the  camp 
on  every  side,  even  the  wounded  men  struggling  on  with  the  mass, 
that  they  might  die  within  the  enemy’s  ramparts.  The  slaughter 


LIFE  OF  HAXFTIBAL. 


Ti 

was  great,  and  the  prisoners  many  ; but,  above  all,  the  whole  of  the 
corn  which  Hanuo  had  collected  for  the  relief  of  Capua  was  lost,  and 
the  object  of  his  expedition  totally  frustrated.  He  himself,  hearing  of 
the  wreck  of  his  army,  retreated  with  speed  into  Bruttium. 

Again  the  Capuans  sent  to  Hannibal  requesting  him  to  aid  them 
ere  it  was  too  late.  Their  negligence  had  just  cost  him  an  army,  and 
had  frustrated  all  his  plans  for  their  relief  ; but  with  unmoved  tem- 
per he  assured  them  that  he  would  not  forget  them,  and  sent  back 
2000  of  his  invincible  cavalry  with  the  deputation,  to  protect  their 
lands  from  the  enem3’’s  ravages.  It  was  important  to  him  not  to 
leave  tlie  south  of  Italy  till  the  very  last  moment  ; for  since  he  had 
taken  Tarentum,  the  neighboring  Greek  cities  of  Metapontum,  Her- 
aclea,  and  Thurii,  had  joined  him  ; and  as  he  had  before  won  Croton 
and  Locri,  he  was  now  master  of  the  whole  coast  from  the  Straits  of 
jMessana  to  the  mouth  of  the  Adriatic,  with  the  exception  of  Rhe- 
gium  and  the  citadel  of  Tarentum.  Into  the  latter  the  Romans  had 
lately  thrown  supplies  of  provisions  ; and  the  garrison  was  so  strong 
that  Hannibal  was  unwilling  to  march  into  Campania  whilst  such  a 
powerful  force  of  the  enem}'  was  left  behind  in  so  favorable  a 
position. 

The  consuls,  meanwhile,  not  content  with  their  own  two  armies, 
and  with  the  two  legions  expected,  if  not  yet  arrived,  in  the  camp 
above  Suessula,  sent  to  Gracchus  in  Lucania,  desiring  him  to  bring  up 
his  cavalry  and  light  troops  to  Beneventum,  to  strengthen  them  in 
that  kind  of  force  in  which  they  fully  felt  their  inferiority.  But  be- 
fore he  could  leave  his  own  province,  he  was  drawn  into  an  ambus- 
cade by  the  treachery  of  a Lucanian  in  the  Roman  interest,  and  per- 
ished. His  qutestor,  Cn.  Cornelius,  marched  with  his  cavalry  towards 
Beneventum,  according  to  the  consuls’  orders  ; but  the  infantry,  con- 
sisting of  the  slaves  whom  he  had  enfranchised,  thought  that  their  ser- 
vices were  ended  by  the  death  of  their  deliverer,  and  immediately  dis- 
persed to  their  homes.  Thus  Lucania  was  left  without  either  a Ro- 
man army  or  general  ; but  M.  Centenius,  an  old  centurion,  distin- 
guished for  his  strength  and  courage,  undertook  the  command  there, 
if  the  senate  would  intrust  him  with  a force  equal  to  a single  legion. 
Perhaps,  likeT.  Pompouius  Veientanns,  he  was  connected  with  some 
of  the  contractors  and  moneyed  men,  and  owed  his  appointment  as 
much  to  their  interest  as  to  his  own  reputation.  But  he  was  a brave 
and  popular  soldier  ; and  so  many  volunteers  joined  him  on  his 
march,  hoping  to  be  enriched  by  the  plunder  of  Lucania,  that  he  ar- 
rived there  with  a force,  it  is  said,  amounting  to  near  sixteen  thousand 
men.  His  confidence  and  that  of  his  followers  was  doomed  to  be 
wofully  disappointed. 

The  consuls  knew  that  Hannibal  was  far  away  : and  they  did  not 
know  that  any  of  his  cavalry  were  in  Capua.  They  issued  boldly 
therefore  from  the  Caudine  Forks  on  the  great  Campanian  plain,  and 
scattered  their  forces  far  and  wide  to  destroy  the  still  green  corn 


n 


LIFE  OF  HAE->nBAL. 


To  their  astonishment  the  gates  of  Capua  were  thrown  open  ; and 
witli  the  Campanian  infantry  they  recognized  the  dreaded  cavalry  of 
IIannil)al.  In  a moment  their  foragers  were  driven  in  ; and  as  they 
liastiiy  formed  their  legions  in  order  of  battle  to  cover  them,  the 
horsemen  broke  upon  them  like  a whirlwind,  and  drove  them  with 
great  loss  and  confusion  to  their  camp.  This  sharp  lesson  taught 
them  caution  ; but  their  numbers  were  overwlielming  ; and  their 
two  armies,  encamped  before  Capua,  cut  off  the  communications  of 
the  city,  and  iiad  the  harvest  of  the  whole  country  in  their  power. 

But  ere  man}'  days  had  elapsed,  an  unwelcome  sight  was  seen  on 
the  summit  of  Tifata  ; Hannibal  was  there  once  more  with  his  armj'. 
He  descended  into  Capua  ; two  days  afterwards  he  marched  out  to 
battle  : again  his  invincible  Numidians  struck  terror  into  the  Roman 
line,  when  the  sudden  arrival  of  Cn.  Cornelius  with  the  cavaliy  of 
Gracchus’  army  broke  off  the  action  : and  neither  side,  it  is  said, 
knowing  what  this  new  force  might  be,  both  as  if  bj*  common  con- 
sent retreated.  How  Hannibal  so  outstripped  Cornelius  as  to  arrive 
from  Tarentum  on  the  scene  of  action  two  or  three  da}’S  before  him, 
who  was  coming  from  Lucania,  we  are  not  told,  and  can  onlj'  con- 
jecture. But  the  arrival  of  this  reinforcement,  though  it  had  saved 
the  consuls  from  defeat,  did  not  emhoklen  them  to  hold  their  ground  ; 
they  left  their  camps  as  soon  as  night  came  on  ; Fulvius  fell  down 
upon  the  coast,  near  Cumae  ; Appius  Claudius  retreated  in  the  di- 
rection of  Lucania. 

Few  passages  in  history  can  offer  a parallel  to  Hannibal’s  cam- 
paigns ; but  this  confident  gathering  of  the  enemies’  overflowing 
numbers  round  the  city  of  his  nearest  allies,  his  sudden  march,  the 
unlooked-for  appearance  of  his  dreaded  veterans,  and  the  instant  scat- 
tering of  the  besieging  armies  before  him,  remind  us  of  the  deliver- 
ance of  Dresden  in  1813,  when  Napoleon  broke  in  upon  the  allies’ 
confident  expectations  of  victory,  and  drove  them  away  in  signal  de- 
feat. And,  like  the  allies  in  that  great  campaign,  tlie  Roman  gen 
erals  knew  their  own  strength  ; and  though  yielding  to  the  shock  of 
their  adversary’s  surpassing  energy  and  genius,  they  did  not  allow 
themselves  to  be  scared  from  their  purpose,  but  began  again  steaddi' 
to  draw  the  toils  which  he  had  once  broke  through.  Great  was  the 
Joy  in  Capua,  when  the  people  rose  in  the  morning  and  saw  the  Ro- 
man  camps  abandoned  : there  needs  no  witness  to  tell  us  with  what 
sincere  and  deep  admiration  they  followed  and  gazed  on  their  de- 
liverer : how  confident  thej’  felt  that,  with  him  for  a shield,  no  harm 
could  reach  them.  But  almost  within  sight  and  hearing  of  their  joy, 
the  stern  old  Fulvius  was  crouching  as  it  were  in  his  thicket,  watch- 
ing the  moment  for  a second  spring  upon  his  prey  ; and  when  Han- 
nibal left  that  rejoicing  and  admiring  multitude  to  follow  the  traces 
of  Appius,  he  passed  through  the  gates  of  Capua,  to  enter  tliem  again 
no  more. 

Appius  retreated  in  the  direct,' or.  of  Lucania  : this  is  all  that  is  re- 


LIFE  OF  HAKFTIBAL. 


73 


ported  of  his  march  ; and  then,  after  a while,  having  led  his  enemy 
in  the  direction  which  suited  his  purposes,  he  turned  off  by  another 
road,  and  made  his  way  back  to  Campania.  With  such  a total  ab- 
sence of  details,  it  is  iuipossible  to  fix  the  line  of  his  march  exactl}’. 
It  was  easy  for  Appius  to  take  the  round  of  the  ilatese  ; retiring  first  by 
the  great  road  to  Beneveutum,  then  turning  to  his  left  and  regaining 
his  old  quarters  at  Bovianura,  from  whence,  the  instant  that  Hannibal 
ceased  to  follow  him,  he  would  move  along  under  the  north  side  of  the 
Matese  to  ^s^ernia,  and  descend  again  upon  Campania  b}^  the  valley  of 
the  Vulturnus.  Hannibal's  pursuit  was  necessarily^  stopped  as  soon  as 
Appius  moved  northward  from  Beneventuiu  : he  could  not  support  his 
army  in  the  country  of  the  Pentaian  Samnites,  w'here  everything  was 
hostile  to  him  ; nor  did  he  like  to  abandon  his  line  of  direct  communi- 
cation with  southern  Italy.  He  had  gained  a respite  for  Capua,  and  had 
left  an  auxiliary  force  to  aid  in  its  defence  ; meanwhile  other  objects 
must  not  be  neglected  ; and  the  fall  of  the  citadel  of  Tarentum  might, 
of  itself,  prevent  or  raise  the  siege  of  Capua.  So  he  turned  off  from 
following  Appius,  and  was  marching  back  to  the  south,  when  he  was 
told  that  a Roman  army  was  attempting  to  bar  his  passage  in  Lu- 
cania.  This  was  the  motley  multitude  commanded  by  Centenius, 
which  had  succeeded,  as  we  have  seen,  to  the  army  of  Gracchus. 
With  what  mad  hope,  or  under  what  false  impression,  Centenius 
could  have  been  tempted  to  rush  upon  certain  destruction,  we  know 
not ; but,  in  the  number,  no  less  than  in  the  quality  of  his  troops,  he 
must  have  been  far  inferior  to  his  adversary.  His  men  fought 
bravely  ; and  he  did  a centurion’s  duty  well,  however  he  may  have 
failed  as  a general  : but  he  was  killed,  and  nearly  fifteen  thousand 
men  are  said  to  have  perished  with  him. 

Thus  Lucauia  was  cleared  of  the  Romans  ; and  as  the  firmest  psj-- 
tisan  of  the  Roman  interest  among  the  Lucauians  had  been  the  very 
man  who  had  betrayed  Gracchus  to  his  fate,  it  is  likely  that  the  Car- 
thaginian party  was  triumphant  through  the  whole  country.  Only' 
one  Roman  army  was  left  in  the  south  of  Italy',  the  two  legions  com- 
manded by  Cn.  Fulvius  Flaccus,  the  consul’s  brother,  in  Apulia. 
But  Cn.  Fulvius  had  nothing  of  his  brother’s  ability  ; he  was  a man 
grown  old  in  profligacy  ; and  the  discipline  of  his  army  was  said  to 
be  in  the  worst  condition.  Hannibal,  hoping  to  complete  his  work, 
moved  at  once  into  Apulia,  and  found  Fulvius  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Herdonea.  The  Roman  general  met  him  in  the  open  field,  witli- 
out  hesitation,  and  was  presently  defeated  : he  himself  escaped  from 
the  action,  but  Hannibal  had  occupied  the  principal  roads  in  the  rear 
of  the  enemy  with  his  cavalry  ; and  the  greatest  part  of  the  Roman 
,.riny  was  cut  to  pieces. 

We  naturally  ask.  What  result  followed  from  these  two  great  vic- 
tories ? and  to  this  question  we  find  no  recorded  answer.  Hannibal, 
we  are  told,  returned  to  Tarentum  ; but  finding  that  the  citadel  still 
held  out,  and  could  neither  be  forced  nor  surprised,  and  that  provi- 


74 


LIFE  OF  HAXiaBAL. 


sions  Trere  still  introduced  liy  sea,  a naval  blockade,  in  r.ncient  ivar 
fare,  being  always  inefficient,  be  marched  off  towards  Brundisium, 
on  some  prospect  that  the  town  would  be  betrayed  into  his  hands. 
This  hope  also  failed  him  ; and  he  remained  inactive  in  Apulia,  or  in 
the  country  of  the  Sallentines,  during  the  rest  of  the  year.  3Iean- 
time,  the  consuls  received  orders  from  the  senate  to  collect  the 
wrecks  of  the  two  beaten  armies,  and  to  search  for  the  soldiers  ot 
Gracchus’  armjy  who  had  dispersed,  as  we  have  seen,  after  his  death. 
The  city  praetor,  P.  Cornelius,  carried  on  the  same  searcii  nearer 
Borne  ; and  these  duties,  says  Livy, were  all  performed  most  carefully 
and  vigorouslj'.  This  is  all  the  information  which  exists  for  us  in 
the  remains  of  the  ancient  writers  ; but,  assuredly,  this  is  no  military 
history  of  a campaign. 

It  is  always  to  be  understood  that  Hannibal  could  not  remain 
long  in  an  enemy’s  country,  frem  the  difficulty  of  feeding  his 
men,  especially  his  cavalrj'.  But  the  country  round  Capua  was 
not  all  hostile  ; Atella  and  Calatia,  in  the  plain  of  Campania  it- 
self, were  still  his  allies : so  were  many  of  the  Caudine  Sam- 
nites,  from  whose  cities  Hanno  had  collected  the  corn  earlj-  in  this 
year  foi  the  relief  of  Capua.  Again,  we  can  conceive  how  the  num- 
ber of  the  Roman  armies  sometimes  oppressed  him  : how  he  dared 
not  stay  long  in  one  quarter,  lest  a greater  evil  should  befall  him  in 
another.  But  at  this  moment,  three  great  disasters,  the  dispersion  of 
the  army  of  Gracchus,  and  the  destruction  of  those  of  Centenius  and 
Fulvius,  had  cleared  the  south  of  Ital}'  of  the  Romans  ; and  his 
friends  in  Apulia,  in  Lucauia,  at  TarenUim,  and  in  Bruttium,  could 
have  nothing  to  fear,  had  he  left  them,  for  the  time,  to  their  own  re- 
sources. Why,  after  defeating  Fulvius,  did  he  not  retrace  his  steps 
towards  Campania,  hold  the  fidd,  with  the  aid  of  his  Campanian  and 
Samnite  allies,  till  the  end  of  the  military  season,  and  then  winter, 
clo.se  at  hand,  on  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  of  Salerno,  in  the  country  of 
liis  allies,  so  as  to  make  it  impossible  for  the  Romans  either  to  under- 
take or  to  maintain  the  siege  of  Capua  ? 

That  his  not  doing  this  was  not  his  own  fault,  his  extraordinary 
ability  and  energy  may  sufficienth’  assure  us  ; but,  where  the  hin- 
ilrance  was,  we  cannot,  for  certain,  discover  : his  army  must  have 
been  worn  by  its  long  and  rapid  march  to  and  from  Campania,  and 
by  two  battles  fought  with  so  short  an  interval : his  wounded  must 
have  been  numerous  ; nor  can  we  tell  how  such  hard  service,  in  the 
heat  of  summer,  may  have  tried  the  health  of  his  soldiers  ; his  horses, 
too,  must  have  needed  rest  ; and  to  overstrain  the  main  arm  of  his 
strength  would  have  been  fatal  : perhaps,  too,  great  as  was  Hanni- 
bal’s ascendency  over  his  army,  there  was  a point  beyond  which  it 
could  not  be  tried  with  safety  : long  marches  and  hard-fought  battles 
gave  the  soldier,  especially  the  Gaul  and  the  Spaniard,  what,  in  his 
eyes,  was  a rightful  claim  to  a season  of  rest  and  enjoyment  ; the 
men  might  have  murmured  had  they  not  been  permitted  to  taste 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


75 


some  reward  of  their  victories  ; besides  all  these  reasons,  the  necessity 
of  a second  march  into  Campania  may  not  have  seemed  urgent  : the 
extent  of  Capua  was  great  ; if  the  Roman  consuls  did  encamp  before 
it,  still  the  city  was  in  no  immediate  danger  ; after  the  winter,  an- 
other advance  would  again  enable  him  to  throw  supplies  into  the 
town,  and  to  drive  ofiE  the  Roman  armies  ; so  Capua  was  left,  for  the 
present,  to  its  own  resources,  and  Hannibal  passed  the  autumn  and 
winter  in  Apulia. 

Immediately  the  Roman  armies  closed  again  upon  their  prey. 
Three  grand  magazines  of  corn  were  established,  to  feed  the  besieg- 
ing army  during  the  winter,  one  at  Casilinum,  within  three  miles  of 
Capua  ; another  at  a fort  built  for  the  purpose  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Vulturnus  : and  a third  at  Puteoli.  Into  these  two  last  magazines  the 
corn  was  conveyed  by  sea  from  Ostia,  whither  it  had  already  b^’eu 
collected  from  Sardinia  and  Etruria.  Then  the  consuls  summoned 
C.  Hero  from  his  camp  above  Suessula  ; and  the  three  armies  began 
tlie  great  work  of  surrounding  Capua  with  double  continuous  Hues, 
strong  enough  to  repel  the  besieged  on  one  side,  and  Hannibal  on  the 
other,  when  he  should  again  appear  in  Campania.  The  inner  line 
was  carried  round  the  city,  at  a distance  of  about  a quarter  of  a mile 
from  the  walls  ; the  outer  line  was  concentric  with  it ; and  the  space 
between  the  two  served  for  the  cantonments  and  magazines  of  the 
besiegers.  The  lines,  says  Appian,  looked  like  a great  cit3^  inclosing 
a smaller  city  in  the  middle  ; like  the  famous  lines  of  the  Peloponne- 
sians before  Plattea.  What  time  was  employed  in  completing  them, 
we  know  not  : they  were  interrupted  by  continual  sallies  of  the  be- 
sieged ; and  Jubellius  Taurea  and  the  Capuan  cavalry  were  gener- 
ally too  strong  for  the  Roman  horsemen.  Rut  their  infantry  could  do 
nothing  against  the  legions ; the  besieging  army  must  hare 
amounted  nearly  to  sixty  thousand  men  ; and  slowly  but  surelj^  the 
imprisoning  walls  were  raised  and  their  circle  completed,  shutting 
out  the  last  gleams  of  light  from  the  e}Ts  of  the  devoted  city. 

Before  the  works  were  closed  all  round,  the  consuls,  according  to 
the  senate’s  directions  signified  to  them  by  the  city  prajtor,  an- 
nounced to  the  Capuans,  that  whoever  chose  to  come  out  of  the  city 
with  his  family  and  property  before  the  ides  of  March,  might  do  so 
with  safety,  and  should  be  untouched  in  body  or  goods.  It  would 
seem,  then,  that  the  works  were  not  completed  till  late  in  the  winter  ; 
for  we  cannot  suppose  that  the  term  of  grace  would  have  been  pro- 
longed to  a remote  day,  especiall}'  as  the  ides  of  March  were  the  be- 
ginning of  the  new  consular  year  ; and  it  could  not  be  known  long 
beforehand  whether  the  present  consuls  would  be  continued  in  their 
command  or  no.  The  offer  was  received  by  the  besieged,  it  is  said, 
with  open  scorn  ; their  provisions  were  as  jmt  abundant,  their  cav- 
alry excellent ; their  hope  of  aid  from  Hannibal,  as  soon  as  the  cam- 
paign should  open,  was  confident.  But  Fulvius  waited  his  time  ; 
nor  was  his  thirst  for  Capuan  blood  to  be  disappointed  by  his  remo- 


76 


LIFE  OF  HAUXIBAL. 


Tal  from  the  siege  at  the  end  of  the  year  ; it  would  seem  as  if  the 
new  consuls  were  men  of  no  great  consideration,  appointed  probably 
for  that  very  reason,  that  their  claims  might  not  interfere  with  those 
of  their  predecessors.  (3ne  of  them,  P.  Sulpicius  Gallni,  had  filled 
no  curule  office  previously  ; the  other,  Cn.  Fulvius  Centumalus,  had 
been  praetor  two  years  before,  but  was  not  distinguished  b}-  any  re- 
markable action.  The  siege  of  Capua  was  still  to  be  conducted  by 
Appius  Claudius  and  Fulvius  ; and  the}'  were  ordered  not  to  retire 
from  their  positions  till  they  should  have  taken  the  city. 

What  was  the  state  of  afliairs  in  Capua  meantime,  we  know  not. 
The  Roman  stories  are  little  to  be  credited,  which  represent  all  the 
richer  and  nobler  citizens  as  abandoning  the  government,  and  leaving 
the  office  of  chief  magistrate,  Mcddi.v  Tuticus,  to  he  filled  by  one  Sep- 
pius  Lesius,  a man  of  obscure  condition,  who  ofl'ered  himself  as  a 
candidate.  Neither  Albius  Virrius  nor  Jubellius'Taurea  wanted  res- 
olution to  abide  by  their  country  to  the  last  ; and  it  is  exprcssl}'  said 
that,  down  to  the  latest  period  of  the  siege,  there  was  no  Roman  party 
in  Capua  ; no  voice  was  heard  to  speak  of  peace  or  surrender  ; no 
citizen  had  embraced  the  consul’s  offers  of  mercj'.  Even  when  they 
had  failed  to  prevent  the  completion  of  the  Roman  lines,  the}'  con- 
tinued to  make  frequent  sallies  ; and  the  proconsuls  could  oidy  with- 
stand their  cavalry  by  mi.xing  light-armed  foot  soldiers  amongst  the 
Roman  horsemen,  and  thus  strengthening  that  weakest  arm  in  the 
Roman  service.  Still,  as  the  blockade  was  not  fully  established,  fam- 
ine must  be  felt  sooner  or  later  ; accordingly  aNumidianwas  sent  to 
implore  Hannibal’s  aid,  and  succeede<l  in  getting  through  the  Ro- 
man lines,  and  carrying  his  message  safely  to  Bruttium. 

Hannibal  listened  to  the  prayer,  and  leaving  his  heavy  baggage 
and  the  mass  of  his  army  behind,  set  out  with  his  cavalry  and  light 
infantry,  and  with  thirty-three  elephants.  AVhether  his  Samnite  and 
Lucanian  allies  joined  him  on  the  march  is  not  stated  ; if  they  did 
not,  and  if  secrecy  and  expedition  were  deemed  of  more  importance 
than  an  addition  of  force,  the  troops  which  he  led  with  him  must 
have  been  more  like  a single  corps  than  a complete  army.  Avoiding 
Bcueventum,  he  descended  the  valley  of  the  Calor  towards  the  Vul- 
turnus,  ctormed  a Roman  post,  which  had  been  built  apparently  to 
cut  olf  the  communications  of  the  besieged  with  the  upper  valley 
of  the  A^ulturnus,  and  encamped  immediately  behind  the  ridge 
of  Tifata.  From  thence  he  descended  once  more  into  the  plain  of 
Capua,  displayed  his  cavalry  before  the  Roman  lines  in  the  hope  of 
tempting  them  out  to  battle,  and  finding  that  this  did  not  succeed, 
commenced  a general  assault  upon  their  works. 

Unprovided  with  any  artillery,  his  best  hope  was  that  the  Romans 
might  be  allured  to  make  some  rash  sally  : his  cavalry  advanced  by 
squadrons  up  to  the  edge  of  the  trench,  and  discharged  showers  of 
missiles  into  the  lines  ; whilst  his  infantry  assailed  the  nimparl,  and 
tried  to  force  then-  way  through  the  palisade  which  surmounted  it. 


LIFE  OF  IIAJNrJaBAL. 


77 


From  within  the  lines  were  attacked  by  tlie  Campanians  and  Hanni. 
bal’s  auxiliary  garrison  ; but  the  Romans  were  numerous  enough  to 
defend  both  fronts  of  their  works  ; they  held  their  ground  steadily, 
neither  yielding  nor  rashly  pursuing  ; aud  Hannibal,  finding  his 
utmost  efforts  vain,  drew  off  his  armj'.  Some  resolution  must  be 
taken  promptly  ; his  cavalry  could  not  be  fed  where  he  was,  for  the 
Romans  had  previously  destroyed  or  carried  away  everything  thaf 
might  serve  for  forage  ; nor  could  he  venture  to  wait  till  the  new 
.•onsuls  should  have  raised  their  legions,  aud  be  ready  to  march  from 
dome  aud  threaten  his  rear.  One  only  hope  remained  ; one  attempt 
might  yet  be  made,  which  should  either  raise  the  siege  of  Capua  or 
accomplish  a still  greater  object  : Hannibal  resolved  to  march  upon 
Rome. 

A Numidiau  was  again  found,  who  undertook  to  pass  over  to  the 
Roman  lines  as  a deserter,  and  from  thence  to  make  his  escape  into 
Capua,  bearing  a letter  from  Hannibal,  which  explained  his  purpose 
and  conjured  the  Capuans  patiently  to  abide  the  issue  of  his  attempt 
for  a little  while.  When  this  letter  reached  Capua,  Hannibal  was 
already  gone  ; his  camp-fires  had  been  seen  burning  as  usual  all  night 
in  his  accustomed  position  on  Tifata  ; but  he  had  begun  his  march 
the  preceding  evening,  immediately  after  dark,  while  the  Romans 
still  thought  that  his  army  was  hanging  over  their  heads,  aud  were 
lookirag  for  a second  assault. 

His  army  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of  the  Romans  behind  Tifata  ; 
and  they  knew  not  whither  he  was  gone.  Even  so  it  is  with  us  at 
this  day  ; we  lose  him  from  Tifata  ; we  find  him  before  Rome  ; but 
we  know  nothing  of  his  course  between.  Confiictiug  and  contradic- 
tory accounts  have  made  the  truth  undiscoverable  : what  regions  of 
Italy  looked  with  fear  or  hope  on  the  march  of  the  great  general  and 
his  famous  soldiers,  it  is  impossible  from  our  existing  records  to  de- 
termine. All  accounts  say  that,  descending  nearljr  by  the  old  route 
of  the  Gauls,  he  kept  the  Tiber  on  his  right  and  the  Auio  on  his 
left ; and  that,  finally,  he  crossed  the  Anio,  aud  encamped  at  a dis- 
tance of  less  than  four  miles  from  the  walls  of  Rome. 

Before  the  sweeping  pursuit  of  his  Numidiaus,  crowds  of  fugitives 
were  seen  flying  towards  the  city,  whilst  the  Siuoke  of  burning  houses 
arose  far  and  wide  into  the  sky.  Within  the  walls  the  confusion  aud 
terror  were  at  their  height  ; he  was  come  at  last,  this  Hannibal, 
whom  they  had  so  long  dreaded  ; he  had  at  length  dared  what  even 
the  slaughter  of  Cannre  had  not  emboldened  him  to  venture  ; some 
victory  greater  even  than  Cannae  must  have  given  him  this  confi- 
dence ; the  three  armies  before  Capua  must  be  utterly  destroyed  ; 
last  year  he  had  destroyed  or  dispersed  three  other  armies,  and  had 
gained  possession  of  the  entire  south  of  Italy  ; and  now  he  had 
stormed  the  lines  before  Capua,  had  cut  to  pieces  the  whole  remain- 
ing force  of  the  Roman  people,  and  was  come  to  Rome  to  finish  his 
work.  So  the  wives  and  mothers  of  Rome  lamented,  as  they  bur 


78 


LIFE  OF  HANXI3AL, 


ried  to  the  temples  ; and  there,  prostrate  before  the  gods,  and  sweep 
ing  the  sacred  pavement  wiih  their  unbound  hair  in  the  agon}’  of 
tludr  fear,  »hey  remained  pouring  forth  their  prayers  for  deliverance. 
Their  sons  and  husbands  hastened  to  man  the  walls  and  the  citadel, 
and  to  secure  the  most  important  points  without  the  city  ; whilst  the 
senate,  as  calm  as  their  fathers  of  old,  whom  the  Gauls  massacred 
when  sitting  at  their  own  doors,  but  with  the  energy  of  manly  resolu- 
tion, rather  than  the  resignation  of  despair,  met  in  the  forum,  and 
there  remained  assembled,  to  direct  every  magistrate  on  the  instant 
how  he  might  best  fulfil  his  duty. 

But  God’s  care  watched  over  the  safety  of  a people  whom  he  had 
choseu  to  work  out  the  purposes  of  his  providence  : Rome  was  not 
to  perish.  Two  city  legions  were  to  be  raised,  as  usual,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  year  ; and  it  so  happened  that  the  citizens  from  the 
country  tribes  were  to  meet  at  Rome  on  this  very  day  for  the  enlist- 
ment for  one  of  these  legions  ; whilst  the  soldiers  of  the  other,  which 
had  been  enrolled  a short  time  before,  were  to  appear  at  Rome  on 
this  same  day  in  arms,  having  been  allowed,  as  the  custom  was,  to 
return  home  for  a few  days  after  their  enlistment,  to  prepare  for 
active  service.  Thus  it  happened  that  ten  thousand  men  Avere 
brought  together  at  the  very’  moment  when  they  were  most  needed, 
and  were  ready  to  repel  any  assault  upon  the  walls.  The  allies,  it 
seems,  were  not  ordinarily  called  out  to  serve  with  the  two  city' 
legions  ; hut  on  this  occasion  it  is  mentioned  that  the  Latin  colony’  of 
Alba,  having  seen  Hannibal  pass  by’  their  w’alls,  and  guessing  the  ob- 
ject of  his  march,  sent  its  whole  force  to  assist  in  the  defence  of 
Rome  ; a zeal  which  the  Greek  writers  compared  to  that  of  Platma, 
whose  citizens  fought  alone  by’  the  side  of  the  Athenians  on  the  day 
of  Marathon. 

To  assault  the  walls  of  Rome  W’as  now’  hopeless  ; but  the  open 
country  was  at  Hannibal’s  mercy',  a country  which  had  seen  no  ene- 
my for  near  a hundred  and  fifty’  years,  cultivated  and  inhabited  in 
the  full  security’  of  peace.  Far  and  w’ide  it  w’as  overrun  b.y  Hanni- 
bal’s soldiers  ; and  the  army’  appears  to  have  moved  about,  encamp- 
ing in  one  place  after  another,  and  sweeping  cattle  and  prisoners  and 
plunder  of  every’  sort,  bey’ond  numbering,  w’ithin  the  enclosure  of  its 
camp. 

It  W’as  probably  in  the  course  of  these  excursions,  that  Hannibal, 
at  the  head  of  a Targe  body  of  cavalry,  came  close  up  to  the  Colline 
gate,  rode  along  leisurely’  under  the  walls  to  see  all  he  could  of  the 
city’,  and  is  said  to  have  cast  his  javelin  into  it  as  in  defiance.  From 
farthest  Spain  he  had  come  into  Italy  ; he  had  wasted  the  whole 
country  of  the  Romans  and  their  allies  w’ith  fire  and  sword  for  more 
than  six  y’ears,  had  slain  more  of  their  citizens  than  were  now  alh’e 
to  bear  arms  against  him  ; and  at  last  he  w’as  shutting  them  up  with- 
in their  city’,  and  riding  freely’  under  their  walls,  while  none  dared 
meet  him  in  the  field.  If  anything  of  disappointment  depressed  his 


LIFE  OF  HAKSIBAIi. 


9 


mind  at  tliat  instant ; if  lie  felt  that  Rome’s  strength  was  not  broken, 
nor  tlie  spirit  of  her  people  quelled,  that  his  own  fortune  was  waver- 
ing,  and  that  his  last  effort  had  been  made,  and  made  in  vain  ; yet 
thinking  where  he  was,  and  of  the  shame  and  loss  which  his  presence 
was  causing  to  his  enemies,  he  must  have  wished  that  his  father 
could  have  lived  to  see  that  day,  and  must  have  thanked  the  gods  of 
his  country  that  they  had  enabled  him  so  fully  to  perform  his  vow. 

For  some  time,  we  know  not  how  long,  this  devastation  of  the  Ro- 
;nan  territory  lasted  without  opposition.  Meanwhile  the  siege  of 
Capua  was  not  raised  ; and  Fabius,  in  earnestly  dissuading  such  a 
confession  of  fear,  showed  that  he  could  be  firm  no  less  than  cau- 
tious, when  boldness  was  the  highest  prudence.  But  Fulvius,  with, 
a small  portion  of  the  besieging  army,  was  recalled  to  Rome  : Fabius 
had  ever  acted  with  him,  and  was  glad  to  have  the  aid  of  his  courage 
and  ability  ; and  when  he  arrived,  and  by  a vote  of  the  senate  was 
united  with  the  consuls  in  the  command,  the  Roman  forces  were  led 
out  of  the  city,  and  encamped,  according  to  Fabius’  old  policy,  with- 
in ten  stadia  of  the  enemy,  to  check  his  free  Ucense  of  plunder.  At 
the  same  time,  parties  acting  on  the  rear  of  Hannibal’s  army  had 
broken  down  the  bridges  over  the  Anio,  his  line  of  retreat,  like  his 
advance,  being  on  the  right  bank  of  that  river,  and  not  by  the  Latin 
road. 

Hannibal  had  purposely  waited  to  allow  time  for  his  movement  to 
produce  its  intended  effect  in  the  raising  of  the  siege  of  Capua. 
That  time,  according  to  his  calculations,  was  now  come  : the  news 
of  his  arrival  before  Rome  must  have  reached  the  Roman  lines  before 
Capua  ; and  the  armies  from  that  quarter,  hastening  by  the  Latin 
road  to  the  defence  of  their  city,  must  have  left  the  communication 
with  Capua  free.  The  presence  of  Fulvius  with  his  army  in  Latium, 
which  Hannibal  would  instantly  discover,  by  the  thrice-repeated 
sounding  of  the  watch,  as  Hasdrubal  found  out  Hero’s  arrival  in  the 
camp  of  Livius  near  Sena,  would  confirm  him  in  his  expectation  that 
the  other  proconsul  was  on  his  march  with  the  mass  of  the  army  ; 
and  he  according'y  commenced  his  retreat  by  the  Tiburtiue  road, 
that  he  might  not  encounter  Appius  in  front,  while  the  consuls  and 
I'abius  were  pressing  on  his  rear. 

Accordingly,  as  the  bridges  were  destroyed,  he  proceeded  to  effect 
his  passage  through  the  river,  and  carried  over  his  army  under  the 
protection  of  his  cavalry,  although  the  Romans  attacked  him  during 
the  passage,  and  cut  off  a large  part  of  the  plunder  which  he  had  col- 
lected from  the  neighborhood  of  Rome.  He  then  continued  his 
retreat ; and  the  Romans  followed  him,  but  at  a careful  distance,  and 
keeping  steadily  on  the  higher  grounds,  to  be  safe  from  the  assaults 
of  his  dreaded  cavalry. 

In  this  manner  Hannibal  marched  with  the  greatest  rapidity  for 
five  days,  which,  if  he  was  moving  by  the  Valerian  road,  must  have 
brought  him  at  least  as  far  as  the  country  of  the  Marsians,  and  the 


80 


LIFE  OF  HAXIIIBAL. 


shores  of  the  lake  Fucinus.  From  thence,  he  would  again  have 
crossed  by  the  Forca  Carrosa  to  the  plain  of  the  Pelignians,  and  so 
retraced  his  steps  through  Samnium,  towards  Capua.  But  at  this 
point,  he  received  intelligence  that  the  Roman  armies  were  still  in 
their  lines  ; that  his  march  upon  Rome  had,  therefore,  failed  ; and 
that  his  communications  with  Capua  were  as  hopeless  as  ever.  In- 
stantly, he  changed  all  his  plans  ; and,  feeling  obliged  to  abandon 
Capua,  the  importance  of  his  operations  in  the  south  rose  upon  him 
in  proportion.  Hitherto,  he  had  not  thought  lit  to  dela}’  his  march 
for  the  sake  of  attacking  the  army  which  was  pursuing  him  ; hut 
now  he  resolved  to  rid  himself  of  this  enemy  ; so  he  turned  fiercely 
upon  them,  and  assaulted  their  camp  in  the  night.  The  Romans, 
surprised  and  confounded,  were  driven  from  it,  with  considerable 
ioss,  and  took  refuge  in  a strong  position  in  the  mountains.  Hanni- 
bal then  resumed  his  march  ; but,  instead  of  turning  short  to  his 
right,  towards  Campania,  descended  towards  the  Adriatic  and  the 
( lains  of  Apulia,  and  from  thence  returned  to  what  was  now  the 
stronghold  of  his  power  in  Italy,  the  country  of  the  Bruttians. 

The  citadel  of  Tarentum  still  held  out  against  him  ; hut  Rhegium, 
confident  in  its  remoteness,  had  never  yet  seen  his  cavalr3'  in  its  terri- 
tory, and  was  now  less  likely  than  ever  to  dread  his  presence,  as  he 
had  so  lately  been  heard  of  in  the  heart  of  Ital3%  and  under  the  walls 
of  Rome.  With  a rapid  march,  therefore,  he  hastened  to  surprise 
Rhegium.  Tidings  of  his  coming  reached  the  cit^"^  just  in  time  for 
the  Rhcgians  to  shut  their  gates  against  him  ; but  half  their  people 
were  in  the  countr}^  in  the  full  security  of  peace  ; and  these  all  fell 
into  his  power.  We  know  not  whether  he  treated  them  kindlj',  as 
hoping  through  their  means  to  win  Rhegium,  as  he  had  won  Taren- 
tum,  or  whether  disappointment  ■was  now  stronger  than  hope  ; and 
despairing  of  drawing  the  allies  of  Rome  to  his  side,  he  was  now  as 
inveterate  against  them  as  against  the  Romans.  He  retired  from  his 
fruitless  attempt  to  win  Rhegium  onl}'  to  receive  the  tidings  of  the 
loss  of  Capua. 

The  Romans  had  patiently  waited  their  time,  an  I were  now  to  reap 
their  reward.  The  consuls  were  both  to  command  in  Apulia  with 
two  consular  armies  ; one  of  them  therefore  must  have  returned  to 
Rome,  to  raise  the  two  additional  legions  which  were  required. 
Fulvius  hastened  back  to  the  lines  before  Capua.  His  prey  was  now 
in  his  power  ; the  straitness  of  the  blockade  could  no  longer  be  en 
lured,  and  aid  from  Haimibal  was  not  to  be  hoped.  It  is  said  that 
mercy  was  still  promised  to  anj’  Capuan  who  should  come  over  to  the 
Romaus  before  a certain  daj%  but  that  none  availed  themselves  of  Ihe 
oiler,  feeling,  saj's  Livy,  that  their  offence  was  beyond  forgiveness. 
This  can  onl}'  mean  that  they  believed  the  Romans  to  be  as  faithless 
as  they  were  cruel,  and  felt  sure  that  every  promise  of  mercj-  would 
be  evaded  or  openl}'  broken.  One  last  attempt  was  made  to  summon 
Hannibal  again  to  their  aid  ; but  the  A'umirlians  employed  on  the 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL.  81 

service  were  detected  this  time  in  the  Roman  lines,  and  were  sent 
back  torn  with  stripes,  and  with  their  hands  cut  off,  into  the  city. 

No  Capuan  writer  has  survived  to  record  the  last  struggle  of  his 
country  ; and  never  were  any  people  less  to  be  believed  than  the  Ro- 
mans, when  speaking  of  their  enemies.  Yet  the  greatest  man  could 
not  have  supported  the  expiring  weakness  of  an  unheroic  people  ; 
and  we  hear  of  no  great  mamin  Capua.  Some  of  the  principal  men 
in  the  senate  met,  it  is  said,  at  the  house  of  one  of  their  number, 
Vibius  Virrius,  where  a magnificent  banquet  had  been  prepared  foi 
them  ; they  ate  and  drank,  and  when  the  feast  was  over,  they  all 
swallowed  poison.  Then,  having  done  with  pleasure  and  with  life, 
they  took  a last  leave  of  each  other  ; they  embraced  each  other, 
lamenting  with  many  tears  their  own  and  their  country’s  calamity  ; 
and  some  remained  to  be  burned  together  on  the  same  funeral  pile, 
whilst  others  went  away  to  die  at  their  own  homes.  All  were  dead 
before  the  Romans  entered  the  city. 

In  the  mean  while  the  Capuan  government,  unable  to  restrain  their 
starving  people,  had  been  obliged  to  surrender  to  the  enemy.  In 
modern  warfare  the  surrender  of  a besieged  town  involves  no  ex- 
treme suffering  ; even  in  civil  wars,  justice  or  vengeance  only  de- 
mands a certain  number  of  victims,  and  the  mass  of  the  population 
scarcely  feels  its  condition  affected.  But  surrender,  deditio,  accord- 
ing to  the  Roman  laws  of  war,  placed  the  property,  liberties,  and 
lives  of  the  whole  surrendered  people  at  the  absolute  disposal  of  the 
conquerors  ; and  that  not  formally,  as  a right,  the  enforcement  of 
which  were  monstrous,  but  as  one  to  abate  which  in  any  instance 
was  an  act  of  free  mercy. 

The  conquest  of  Capua  was  one  of  the  most  important  services 
ever  rendered  by  a Roman  general  to  his  country.  It  did  not 
merely  deprive  Hannibal  of  the  greatest  fruit  of  his  greatest  victory, 
and  thus  seem  to  undo  the  work  of  Cannae  ; hut  its  effect  was  felt  far 
and  wide,  encouraging  the  allies  of  Rome,  and  striking  terror  into 
her  enemies  ; tempting  the  cities  which  had  revolted  to  return  with- 
out delay  to  their  allegiance,  and  filling  Hannibal  with  suspicions  of 
those  who  were  still  true  to  him,  as  if  they  only  waited  to  purchase 
their  pardon  by  some  act  of  treachery  towards  his  garrisons.  By 
the  recovery  of  Capua  his  great  experiment  seemed  decided  against 
him.  It  appeared  impossible,  under  any  circumstances,  to  rally  such 
a coalition  of  the  Italian  states  against  the  Roman  power  in  Italy,  as 
might  be  able  to  overthrow  it.  We  almost  ask,  With  what  reason- 
able hopes  could  Hannibal  from  this  time  forward  continue  the  war^ 
or.  Wiry  did  he  not  change  the  seat  of  it  from  Southern  Italy  tc 
Etruria  and  Cisalpine  Gaul  ? 

But  with  whatever  feelings  of  disappointment  and  grief  he  may 
have  heard  of  the  fall  of  Capua,  of  the  ruin  of  his  allies,  the  bloody 
death  of  so  many  of  the  Capuan  senators,  and  of  the  brave  Jubellius 
Taurea,  whom  he  had  personally  known  and  hono>red,  yet  the  last 


82 


LIFE  OF  HAFTNIBAL. 


campaign  was  not  without  many  solid  grounds  of  encouragement. 
Never  had  the  invincible  force  of  his  army  been  more  fully  proved. 
He  had  overrun  half  Italy,  had  crossed  and  recrossed  the  passes  of 
the  Apennines,  had  plunged  into  the  midst  of  the  Roman  allies,  and 
had  laid  waste  the  territory  of  Rome  with  fire  and  sword.  Yet  no 
superiority  of  numbers,  no  advantage  of  ground,  no  knowledge  of 
the  country,  had  ever  emboldened  the  Romans  to  meet  him  in  the 
field,  or  even  to  beset  his  road,  or  to  obstruct  and  harass  his  march. 
Once  only,  when  he  was  thought  to  be  retreating,  bad  the}-  ventured 
to  follow  him  at  a cautious  distance  ; but  he  had  turned  upon  them  in 
his  streugth  ; and  the  two  consuls,  and  Q.  Fulvius  with  them,  were 
driven  l)efore  him  as  fugitives  to  the  mountains,  their  camp  stormed, 
and  their  legions  scattered.  It  was  plain,  then,  that  he  might  hold 
his  ground  in  Italy  as  long  as  he  pleased,  supporting  his  aimy  at  its 
cost,  and  draining  the  resources  of  Rome  and  her  allies  year  after 
year,  till,  in  mere  exhaustion,  the  Roman  commons  would  prrliably 
join  the  Latin  colonies  and  the  allies,  in  forcing  the  senate  to  make 
peace. 

At  this  very  moment  Etruria  was  restless,  and  required  an  army 
of  two  legions  to  keep  it  quiet : the  Roman  common.^,  in  addition  to 
their  heavy  taxation  and  militarj'  service,  had  seen  their  lands  laid 
waste,  and  yet  were  called  upon  to  bear  fresh  burdens  : and  there 
was  a spirit  of  discontent  working  in  the  Latin  colonies,  which  a lit- 
tle more  provocation  might  excite  to  open  revolt.  Spain,  besides, 
seemed  at  last  to  be  freed  from  the  enemy  ; and  the  recent  defeats 
and  deaths  of  the  two  Scipios  there  held  out  the  hope  to  Hannibal 
that  now  at  length  his  brother  Hasdrubal,  having  nothing  to  detain 
him  in  Spain,  might  lead  a second  Carthaginian  army  into  Italy,  and 
establish  himself  in  Etruria,  depriving  Rome  of  the  resources  of  the 
Etruscan  and  Umbrian  states,  as  she  had  already  lost  those  of  half 
Saninium,  of  Lucania,  Bruttium,  and  Apulia.  Then,  assailed,  at  once 
by  two  sous  of  Hamilcar,  on  the  north  and  the  south,  the  Roman  pow- 
er, which  one  of  them,  siugl}^  had  so  staggered,  must,  by  the  joint 
efforts  of  both,  be  beaten  to  the  ground  and  destroyed.  IVith  such 
hopes,  and  with  no  unreasonabk  confidence,  Hannibal  consoled 
himself  for  the  loss  of  Capua,  and  allowed  his  army,  after  its  severe 
marching,  to  rest  for  the  remainder  of  the  year  in  Apulia. 

The  commencement  of  the  next  season  was  marked  by  the  fall  of 
Salapia,  which  was  betrayed  by  the  inhalutants  to  Harccllus  ; In;; 
this  loss  was  soon  avenged  by  the  total  defeat  and  destruction  of  the 
armj'^  of  the  proconsul  Cn.  Fulvius,  at  Herdonca.  Marcellus,  on  his 
part,  carefully  avoided  an  action  for  the  rest  of  the  campaign  ; whilst 
he  harassed  his  opponent  by  every  possible  means.  Thus  the  rest  of 
that  summer,  too,  wore  away  without  any  important  results.  But 
this  State  of  comparative  inactivity  was  necessarily  injurious  to  the 
cause  of  Hannibal : the  nations  of  Italy  that  had  espoused  that  cause, 
Tvhen  triumphant,  now  began  to  waver  in  their  attachment  ; and,  in 


LIFE  OF  HAXFTIBAL. 


83 


the  course  of  the  following  summer,  the  Samnites  and  Lucunians 
submitted  to  Rome,  and  Avere  admitted  to  favorable  terms.  A still 
more  disastrous  blow  to  the  Carthaginian  cause  was  the  loss  of 
Tarentum,  which  was  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  Fabius,  as  it  had 
been  into  those  of  Hannibal.  In  vain  did  the  latter  seek  to  draw  the 
Roman  General  into  a snare  ; tbs  wary  Fabius  eluded  his  toils.  But 
Marcellos,  after  a pretended  victory  over  Hannibal,  during  the  earlier 
part  of  the  campaign,  had  shut  himself  up  within  the  walls  of 
Venusia,  and  remained  there  in  utter  inactivity.  Hannibal,  mean- 
vvhile,  still  traversed  the  open  country  unopposed,  and  laid  waste  the 
territories  of  his  enemies.  Yet  we  cannot  suppose  that  he  any  longer 
looked  for  ultimate  success  from  any  efforts  of  his  own  ; his  object 
was,  doubtless,  now  only  to  maintain  his  ground  in  the  south,  until 
his  brother  Hasdrubal  should  appear  in  the  north  of  Italy,  an  event 
to  which  he  had  long  looked  forAvard  Avith  anxious  expectation. 

Yet  the  following  summer  was  not  unmarked  by  some  brilliant 
achievements.  The  Romans  having  formed  the  siege  of  Locri,  a 
legion,  which  was  dispatched  to  their  support  from  Tarentum,  was 
intercepted  in  its  march,  and  utterly  destroyed  ; and  not  long  after- 
Avards,  the  two  consuls,  Crispinus  and  Marcellus,  who,  with  their 
united  armies,  were  opposed  to  Hannibal  in  Lucania,  allowed  them- 
selves to  be  led  into  an  ambush,  in  which  Marcellus  was  killed  and 
Crispinus  was  mortally  wounded.  After  this,  the  Roman  armies 
Avithdrew,  while  Hannibal  hastened  to  Locri,  and  not  only  raised  the 
siege,  but  utterly  destroyed,  the  besieging  army.  Thus  he  again 
found  himself  undisputed  master  of  the  south  of  Italj^  during  the  re- 
mainder of  this  campaign. 

Of  the  two  consuls  of  the  ensuing  year,  C.  Nero  was  opposed  to 
Hannibal,  while  M.  Livius  was  appointed  to  take  the  field  against 
Hasdrubal,  who  had  at  length  crossed  the  Alps,  and  descended  into 
Cisalpine  Gaul.  According  to  Livy,  Hannibal  was  apprised  of  his 
brother’s  arrival  at  Placentia  before  he  had  himself  moved  from  his 
winter  quarters  ; but  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that,  if  this  had  been  the 
case,  he  would  not  have  made  more  energetic  efforts  to  join  him.  If 
Ave  can  trust  the  narrative  transmitted  to  us,  which  is  certainly  in 
many  respects  unsatisfactory,  Hannibal  spent  much  time  in  vari- 
ous unimportant  movements,  before  he  advanced  northward  into 
Apulia,  where  he  was  met  by  the  Roman  consul,  and  not  only  held 
in  check,  but  so  effectually  deceived  that  he  knew  nothing  of  Nero’s 
march  to  support  his  colleague  until  after  his  return  ; and  the  first 
tidings  of  the  battle  of  Metaurus  Avere  conveyed  to  him  by  the  sight 
of  the  head  of  Hasdrubal, 

But,  whatever  exaggeration  Ave  may  justly  suspect  in  this  relation, 
it  is  not  the  less  certain  that  the  defeat  and  death  of  Hasdrubal  was 
decisive  of  the  fate  of  the  Avar  in  Italy  ; and  the  conduct  of  Hannibal 
shows  that  he  felt  it  to  be  such.  From  this  time  he  abandons  all 
thoughts  of  offensive  operations,  and,  withdraAving  his  garrisons  from 


84 


LIFE  OF  HAXXIBAL. 


Metapontum  and  other  towns  that  he  stUl  held  in  Lucania,  collect 
together  his  forces  within  the  peninsula  of  Bruttium.  In  the  fast- 
nesses of  that  wild  and  mountainous  region,  he  maintained  his  ground 
for  nearly  four  years  ; whilst  the  towns  that  he  still  possessed  on  the 
coast  gave  him  the  command  of  the  sea.  Of  the  events  of  these  four 
years,  we  know  hut  little.  It  appears  that  the  Romans  at  first  con- 
tented themselves  with  shutting  him  up  within  the  peninsula,  but 
gradually  began  to  encroach  upon  these  bounds  ; and  thougli  the 
statements  of  their  repeated  victories  are  gross  exaggerations,  if  not 
altogether  unfounded,  yet  the  successive  loss  of  Locri,  C'onseutia,  ancl 
Pandosia,  besides  smaller  towns,  must  have  hemmed  him  in  within 
limits  continually  narrowing.  Crotona  seems  to  have  been  his  chief 
stronghold  and  centre  of  operations  ; and  it  was  during  this  period 
that  he  erected,  in  the  temple  of  the  Lacinian  Juno,  near  that  city,  a 
column  bearing  an  inscription  which  recorded  the  leading  events  of 
his  memorable  expedition.  To  this  important  monument,  which  was 
seen  and  consulted  by  Polybius,  we  are  indebted  for  many  of  the 
statements  of  that  author. 

It  is  difficult  to  judge,  whether  it  was  the  expectation  of  effective 
assistance  from  Carthage,  or  the  hopes  of  a fresh  diversion  being 
operated  by  Mago  in  the  North,  that  induced  Hannibal  to  cling  so 
pertinaciously  to  the  corner  of  Itaty  that  he  still  held.  It  is  certain 
that  he  was,  at  an}^  time,  free  to  quit  it  ; and  when,  at  length,  he 
was  induced  to  comply  with  the  urgent  request  of  the  Carthaginian 
government  that  he  should  return  to  Africa,  to  make  head  against 
Scipio,  he  was  able  to  embark  his  troops  without  an  attempt  at  oppo- 
sition. His  departure  from  Italy  seems,  indeed,  to  have  been  the 
great  object  of  desire  with  the  Romans.  For  more  than  fifteen  years 
had  he  carried  on  the  war  in  that  countrj’,  laying  it  waste  from  one 
exti'emity  to  the  other,  and  during  all  this  period  his_sjiperiority  in 
the  field  had  been  uncontested.  The  Romans  calculated  that  in  these 
fifteen  years  their  losses  in  the  field  alone  amounted  to  not  less  than 
300,000  men  ; a statement  which  will  hardly  appear  exaggerated, 
when  we  consider  the  continual  combats  in  which  the}'  were  engaged 
by  their  ever-watchful  foe. 

Hannibal  landed,  with  the  small  but  veteran  army  which  he  was 
able  to  bring  with  him  from  Italy,  at  Leptis,  in  Africa,  apparently 
before  the  close  of  the  year  203.  From  thence  he  proceeded  to  the 
strong  city  of  Hadrumetum.  The  circumstances  of  the  campaign 
which  followed  are  very  differently  related  : nor  will  our  space  allow 
ns  to  enter  into  any  discussion  of  the  details.  Some  of  these,  es- 
pecially the  well-known  account  of  the  interview  between  Scipio  and 
Hannibal,  savor  strongly  of  romance,  notwithstanding  the  high 
authority  of  Polybius.  The  decisive  action  was  fought  at  a place 
called  Naragara,  not  far  from  the  city  of  Zama  ; and  Hannibal,  ac- 
cording to  the  express  testimony  of  his  antagonist,  displayed,  on  this 
ocoasiou,  all  the  qualities  of  a consummate  general.  But  he  was 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


85 


HOW  particular!}'  deficient  in  that  formidable  cavalry  which  had  so 
often  decided  the  victory  in  his  fav'or  : his  elephants,  of  which  he 
had  a great  number,  were  rendered  unavailing  by  the  skilful  man- 
agement of  Scipio  ; and  the  battle  ended  in  his  complete  defeat,  not- 
withstanding the  heroic  exertions  of  his  veteran  infantry.  Twenty 
thousand  of  his  men  fell  on  the  field  of  battle  ; as  many  more  were 
made  prisoners,  and  Hannibal  himself  with  difficulty  escaped  the  pur- 
suit of  Masinissa,  and  he  fled  with  a few  horsemen  to  Kadrumetum. 
Here  he  succeeded  in  collecting  about  6000  men,  the  remnant  of  hir 
scattered  army,  with  whom  he  repaired  to  Carthage.  But  all  hopes 
of  resistance  were  now  at  an  end,  and  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  uige* 
the  necessity  of  an  immediate  peace.  Much  time,  however,  appears 
to  have  been  occupied  in  the  negotiations  for  this  purpose  ; and  the 
(treaty  was  not  finally  concluded  until  after  the  battle  of  Zama. 

By  this  treaty,  Hannibal  saw  the  object  of  his  wdiole  life  frustrated, 
and  Carthage  was  efifectually  humbled  before  her  imperious  rival. 
But  his  enmity  to  Rome  was  unabated  ; and  though  now  more  than 
i5  years  old,  he  set  himself  to  work,  like  his  father  Hamilcar  after 
the  end  of  the  first  Punic  war,  to  prepare  the  means  of  renewing  the 
contest  at  a distant  period.  His  first  measures  related  to  the  internal 
affairs  of  Carthage,  and  were  dii-ected  to  the  reform  of  abuses  in  tht 
administration,  and  in  the  introduction  of  certain  constitutional 
changes,  which  our  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  government  of  Car- 
thage wholly  disqualifies  us  clearly  to  understand.  We  are  told  that 
after  the  termination  of  the  war  with  Romo,  Hannibal  was  assailed 
by  the  opposite  faction  with  charges  of  remissness,  and  even 
treachery,  in  his  command  ; accusations  so  obviously  false,  that  they 
appear  to  have  recoiled  on  the  heads  of  his  accusers  ; and  he  was  not 
only  acquitted,  but  shortly  afterwards  was  raised  to  the  chief  mag- 
istracy of  the  republic,  the  office  styled  by  Livy  prmior  : by  which  it 
is  probable  that  he  means  one  of  the  suffetes.  But  the  virtual  con- 
trol of  the  whole  government  had  at  this  time  been  assumed  by  the 
assembly  of  judges,  apparently  the  same  as  the  council  of  one  hun- 
dred, evidently  a high  and  aristocratic  body  ; and  it  was  only  by 
the  overthrow  of  this  power  that  Hannibal  was  enabled  to  introduce 
order  into  the  finances  of  the  state,  and  thus  prepare  the  way  for  the 
gradual  restoration  of  the  republic.  But  though  he  succeeded  in  ac- 
complishing this  object,  and  in  introducing  the  most  beneficial  re- 
forms, such  a revolution  could  not  but  irritate  the  adverse  faction, 
and  they  soon  found  an  opportunity  of  revenging  themselves,  by  de- 
nouncing him  to  the  Romans,  as  being  engaged  in  negotiations  with 
Antiochus  III.,  King  of  Syria,  to  induce  him  to  take  up  arms 
against  Rome.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  charge  was  well 
founded,  and  Hannibal  saw  that  his  enemies  were  too  strong  for  him. 
No  sooner,  therefore,  did  the  Roman  envoys  appear  at  Carthage, 
than  he  secretly  took  to  flight,  an  i escaped  by  sea  to  the  island  of 
Cercina,  from  whence  he  retir  Tyre,  and  thence  again,  after  a 


8R 


LIFE  OF  HAXiaBAL. 


short  interval,  to  the  court  of  Antiochus  at  Ephesus.  The  Syrian 
monarch  was  at  this  time  on  the  eve  of  war  with  Rome,  though  hos- 
tilities had  not  yet  commenced.  Hence  Hannibal  was  welcomed  with 
the  utmost  honors.  But  Antiochus,  partly  perhaps  from  incapacity, 
partly,  also,  from  personal  jealousy^  encouraged  by  the  intrigues  of 
his  courtiers,  could  not  be  induced  to  listen  to  his  judicious  counsels, 
the  wisdom  af  which  he  was  compelled  to  acknowledge  when  too 
late.  Hannibal  in  vain  urged  the  necessity  of  carrying  the  war  at 
once  into  Italy',  instead  of  awaiting  the  Romans  in  Greece.  The 
king  could  not  be  persuaded  to  place  a force  at  his  disposal  for  this 
purpose,  and  sent  him  instead  to  assemble  a fleet  for  him  from  the 
cities  of  Phoenicia.  This  Hannibal  effected,  and  took  the  command 
of  it  in  person  ; but  his  previous  habits  could  have  little  qualified  him 
for  this  service,  and  he  was  defeated  by  the  Rhodian  fleet,  in  an 
action  near  Side.  But  unimportant  as  his  services  in  this  war  appear 
to  have  been,  he  was  still  iv,garded  by'  the  Romans  with  such  appre- 
hension, that  his  surrender  tvas  one  of  the  conditions  of  the  peace 
granted  to  Antiochus  after  hk.  defeat  at  Magnesia.  Hannibal,  how- 
ever, foresaw  his  danger,  and  nade  his  escape  to  Crete,  from  whence 
he  afterwards  repaired  to  the  court  of  Prusias,  King  of  Bithynia. 
Another  account  represents  hiin  as  repairing  from  the  court  of  Anti- 
ochus to  Armenia,  where  it  is  said  he  found  refuge  for  a time  with 
Artaxias,  one  of  the  generals  of  Antiochus,  who  had  revolted  from 
his  master,  and  that  he  superintended  the  foundation  of  Artaxata, 
the  new  capital  of  the  Armenian  kingdom.  In  any  case,  it  was  in 
the  kingdom  of  Pnisias  that  he  took  up  his  abode.  That  nv  narch 
was  in  a state  of  hostility  with  Eumenes,  the  faithful  ally  of  Rome, 
and  on  that  account  unfriendly',  at  least,  to  the  Romans.  Here, 
therefore,  he  found,  for  some  y^ears,  a secure  asylum,  during  which 
time  we  are  told  that  he  commanded  the  fleet  of  Prusias  in  a naval 
action  against  Eumenes,  and  gained  a victory  over  that  monarch, 
absurdly  attributed,  by  Cornelius  Kepos  and  Justin,  to  the  stratagem 
of  throwing  vessels  filled  with  serpents  into  the  enemy’s  ships  ! But 
the  Romans  could  not  he  at  ease  so  long  as  Hannibal  lived  ; and  T. 
Quiutius  Flamininus  was  at  length  dispatched  to  the  court  of  Prusias 
to  demand  the  surrender  of  the  fugitive.  The  Bithynian  king  was 
unable  to  resist,  and  he  sent  troops  to  arrest  his  illustrious  guest ; but 
Hannibal,  who  had  long  been  in  expectation  of  such  an  event,  as 
soon  as  he  found  that  aU  approaches  were  beset,  and  that  flight  was 
impossible,  took  poison,  to  avoid  falling  into  the  hands  of  bis  ene 
mies.  The  y'ear  of  his  death  is  uncertain,  having  been  a subject  of 
much  dispute  among  the  Roman  chronologers.  The  testimony  of 
Polybius  on  the  point,  which  would  have  appeared  conclusive,  is 
doubtful.  From  the  expressions  of  Livy,  we  should  certainly  have 
inferred  that  he  placed  the  death  of  Hannibal,  together  with  those  of 
Scipio  and  Philopoemen,  in  the  con.^^ulship  of  jM.  Claudius  Marcellut 
iiud  Q.  Fabius  Labes  ; and  this,  w hich  was  the  date  adopted  vy 


LIFE  OF  HANXIBAL. 


87 


A.tticus,  appears  on  the  whole  the  most  ptobahle  : hut  Cornelius 
Nepos  expressly  says  that  Polybius  assigued  it  to  the  following  j^ear, 
and  Sulpicius  to  the  year  after  that.  The  scene  of  his  death  and 
hurial  was  a village  named  Libyssa,  on  the  coast  of  Bithynia. 

Hannibal’s  character  has  been  very  variously  estimated  by  different 
writers. 

A man  who  had  rendered  himself  formidable  to  the  Roman  power, 
and  had  wrought  them  such  extensive  mischief,  could  hardly  fail  to  be 
the  object  of  the  falsest  calumnies  and  misrepresentations  during  his 
life  ; and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  many  such  were  recorded  iu  the 
pages  of  the  historian  Fabius,  and  have  been  transmitted  to  us  by 
Appian  and  Zonares.  He  was  judged  with  less  passion,  and,  on  the 
whole,  with  great  impartiality,  by  Polybius.  An  able  review  of  his 
character  will  be  found  also  in  Dion  Cassius.  But  that  writer  tells 
us  that  he  was  accused  of  avarice  by  the  Carthaginians,  and  of 
cruelty  by  the  Romans.  Many  instances  of  the  latter  are  certainly 
recorded  by  the  Roman  historians  ; but  even  if  we  were  to  admit 
thdm  all  as  true  (and  many  of  them  are  demonstrably  false),  they  do 
not  exceed,  or  even  equal,  whak  the  same  writers  have  related  of 
their  own  generals  : and  severity,  often  degenerating  into  cruelty, 
seems  to  have  been  so  characteristic  of  the  Carthaginians  in  general, 
that  Hannibal’s  conduct  in  this  respect,  as  compared  with  that  of  his 
countrymen,  deserves  to  be  regarded  as  a favorable  exception.  We 
find  him  readily  entering  into  an  agreement  with  Fabius  for  an  ex- 
change of  prisoners  ; and  it  was  only  the  sternness  of  the  Romans 
themselves  that  prevented  the  same  humane  arrangements  from  be- 
ing carried  throughout  the  war.  On  many  occasions,  too,  his  gen- 
erous sympathy  for  his  fallen  foes  bears  witness  of  a noble  spirit,  and 
his  treatment  of  the  dead  bodies  of  Flaminius,  of  Gracchus,  and  of 
Marcellus,  contrasts  most  favorably  with  the  barbarity  of  Claudius 
Nero  to  that  of  Hasdrubal.  The  charge  of  avarice  appears  to  have 
been  as  little  founded  : of  such  a vice,  in  its  lowest  acceptation,  he 
was  certainl3Gncapable  ; though  it  is  not  unlikely  that  he  was  greedy 
of  money  for  the  prosecution  of  his  great  schemes  ; and,  perhaps, 
unscrupulous  iu  his  modes  of  acquiring  it.  Among  other  virtues  he  is 
extolled  for  his  temperance  and  continence,  and  for  the  fortitude  with 
which  he  endured  every  species  of  toil  and  hardship.  Of  his  abil- 
ities as  a general  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak  : all  the  great  masters  of 
the  art  of  war,  from  Scipio  to  Napoleon,  have  concurred  iu  their 
homage  to  his  genius.  But  in  comparing  Hannibal  with  any  other 
of  the  great  leaders  of  antiquity,  we  must  ever  bear  in  mind  the  pecu- 
liar circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed.  He  was  not  iu  tlie 
position  either  of  a powerful  monarch,  disposing  at  his  pleasure  of 
the  whole  resources  of  the  state,  nor  yet  in  that  of  a republican  leader 
supported  by  the  patriotism  and  national  spirit  of  the  people  that  fol- 
lowed him  to  battle.  Feebly  and  o-rudgingly  supported  by  the  gov- 
ernment at  home,  he  stood  aloii'  he  head  of  an  army  compost  of 


88 


LIFE  OF  HANNIBAL. 


mercenaries  of  many  nations,  of  men  fickle  and  treacherous  to  all 
etliers  but  himself,  men  who  had  no  other  bond  of  union  than  their 
common  confidence  in  their  leader.  Yet  not  only  did  he  retain  the 
attachment  of  these  men,  unshaken  by  any  change  of  fortune,  for  a 
period  of  more  than  fifteen  years,  but  he  trained  up  army  after 
army  ; and,  long  after  the  veterans  that  followed  him  over  the  Alps 
had  dwindled  to  an  inconsiderable  remnant,  his  new  levies  w'cre  stiU 
as  invincible  as  their  predecessors. 

Of  the  private  character  of  Hannibal,  w'e  know’ very  little  : no  man 
ever  played  so  conspicuous  a part  in  history  of  w’hom  so  few  personal 
anecdotes  have  been  recorded.  Yet  this  can  haidlj’ have  been  for 
want  of  the  opportunity  of  preserving  them  ; for  we  are  told  that  he. 
was  accompanied  throughout  his  campaigns  by  two  Greek  writers, 
Silenus  and  Sosilus  ; and  we  know  that  the  works  of  both  these 
authors  were  extant  in  later  times  ; but  they  seem  to  have  been  un- 
worthy of  their  subject.  Sosilus  is  censm-ed  by  Polybius  for  the 
fables  and  absurdities  with  w’hich  he  had  overlaid  his  history  ; and 
Silenus  is  cited  only  as  an  authority  for  dreams  and  prodigies.  The 
former  is  said  also  to  have  acted  as  Hannibal's  instructor  in  Greek,  a 
language  which,  at  least  in  the  latter  j’ears  of  his  life,  he  spoke  w’ith 
fluency  ; and  in  which  he  even  composed,  during  his  residence  at  the 
court  of  Prusias,  a history  of  the  expedition  of  Cn.  Jlanlius  Yulso 
against  the  Galatians.  If  w'e  may  believe  Zonares,  he  was,  at  an 
early  age,  master  of  several  other  languages  also,  Latin  among  the  rest ; 
but  this  seems  at  least  very  doubtful.  Dion  Cassius,  however,  also 
bears  testimony  to  his  having  received  an  excellent  education,  not 
only  in  Panic,  but  in  Greek  learning  and  literature.  During  his  re.s- 
idencs  in  8pain,  Hannibal  had  married  the  daughter  of  a Spanish 
nbicrtaln  ; but  we  do  not  learn  that  he  left  any  children. 


THE  END. 


It*-' 


V 


•V'**..  i 


1 


i . 


'c 


••ii 


m 


LIFE  OF  JFLITJS  C^SAK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

STIOM  THE  CONSULSHIP  OP  POMPEY  AND  CRASSUS  TO  THE  RETURN 

OF  POMPEY  FROM  THE  EAST — C^SAR— CICERO — CATILINE.  (69-61 

B. C.) 

C.  Julius  C.esar  was  born  of  an  old  patrician  family  in  the  year 
100  B.C.  He  was  therefore  six  years  younger  than  Pompey  and 
Cicero.  His  father,  C.  Caesar,  did  not  live  to  reach  the  consulship. 
His  uncle  Sextus  held  that  high  dignity  in  91  b.c.,  .just  before  the 
outbreak  of  the  Social  War.  That  L.  Caesar  who  held  command  in 
the  first  year  of  that  war  (90  b.c.),  and  was  author  of  the  famous 
Julian  law  for  enfranchising  the  Allies,  was  a more  distant  kinsman, 
who  adhered  to  the  aristocratical  party  and  fell  a victim  in  the  Marian 
massacre.  But  the  connection  on  which  the  young  patrician  most 
prided  himself  was  the  marriage  of  his  aunt  Julia  with  the  famous 
C.  Marius  ; and  at  the  early  age  of  seventeen  he  declared  his  adhe- 
sion to  the  popular  party  by  espousing  Cornelia,  the  daughter  of 
Cinna,  who  was  at  that  time  absolute  master  of  Rome.*  On  the  re- 
turn of  Sylla,  he  boldly  refused  to  repudiate  this  wife,  and  only  saved 
his  life  by  skulking  in  the  Apennines.  But  at  length  his  aristocratic 
friends  induced  the  dictator  to  pardon  him.  Sylla  gave  way  against 
his  own  judgment,  and  told  the  nobles  to  whom  he  bequeathed 
authority  to  “beware  of  that  dissolute  bojL”f  His  first  military 
service  was  performed  under  the  prsetor  L.  Minucius  Thermus,  who 
was  left  by  Sylla  to  take  Mitylene  ; and  in  the  siege  of  that  place  he 
won  a civic  crown  for  saving  the  life  of  a Roman  citizen.  On  the 
death  of  Sylla  he  returned  to  Rome,  and,  after  the  custom  of  am- 
birious  young  Romans,  though  he  was  but  in  his  twenty-third  year, 
he  indicted  Cn.  Dolabella,  a partisan  of  Sylla,  for  extortion  in  his 
province  of  Macedonia.  The  senatorial  jury  acquitted  Dolabella  as 

* Yet  he  had  already  been  married  before  to  Cossutia,  a rich  heireee.  He  di- 
vorced her  to  marry  Cornelia. 

t Dio  C.  xliii.  43,  etc. 


4 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAK. 


a matter  of  course  ; but  the  credit  gained  by  the  young  orator  "was 
great ; and  be  went  to  Ehodes  to  study  rhetoric  under  Molo,  in  whose 
school  Cicero  had  lately  been  taking  lessons.  It  was  on  his  waj'  to 
Rhodes  that  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  Cilician  pirates.  Redeemed  by 
a heavy  ransom,  he  collected  some  ships  at  Miletus,  attacked  his  cap- 
tors,  took  the  greater  part  of  them  prisoners,  and  crucified  them  at 
Pergamus,  according  to  a threat  which  he  had  often  made  while  he 
bad  been  their  prisoner.  About  the  year  74  b.c.  he  heard  that  he  had 
I)een  chosen  as  one  of  the  pontifices,  to  succeed  his  uncle  C.  Aurelius 
Cotta,  and  he  instantly  returned  to  Rome,  where  he  remained  for 
some  years,  leading  apparently  a life  of  pleasure,  taking  little  out- 
ward part  in  politics,  but  yet,  by  his  winning  manners  and  open- 
handed  generosity,  laying  in  a large  store  of  popularity.  Many  wri- 
ters attribute  to  him  a secret  agency  in  most  of  the  events  of  the  time. 
The  early  attachment  which  he  showed  to  the  Marian  partj-,  and  his 
bold  defiance  of  SyUa’s  orders,  prove  that  he  was  quite  willing  and 
able  to  act  against  the  senatorial  oligarchy  whenever  opportunitj- 
might  offer.  But  we  have  no  positive  evidence  on  the  matter,  fur- 
ther than  that  it  was  his  uncle  C.  Cotta  who  in  75  b.c.  proposed  to 
restore  to  the  tribunes  some  portion  of  the  dignity  thej’  had  lost  by 
the  Syllan  legislation,  and  that  it  was  another  uncle,  L.  Cotta,  who 
was  author  of  the  celebrated  law  (70  b.c.)  for  reorganizing  the  juries. 

After  his  consulship,  as  we  have  seen,  Pompey  had  remained  for 
two  years  in  dignified  ease  at  Rome,  envied  IwCrassus,  and  reposing 
on  the  popularity  he  had  won.  In  67  b.c.  he  left  the  city  to  take  the 
command  again.st  the  pirates.  In  that  year  Caesar,  being  now  in  his 
thirty-third  year,  was  elected  quaestor,  and  signalized  his  year  of 
otflee  by  an  elaborate  panegyric  over  the  body  of  his  aunt  Julia,  the 
widow  of  Marius.  His  wife  Cornelia  died  in  the  same  3’ear,  and 
gave  occasion  to  another  funeral  harangue.  In  both  of  these  speeches 
the  political  allusions  were  evident ; and  he  ventured  to  have  the 
bust  of  Marius  carried  in  procession  among  his  famil)'  images  for  the 
first  time  since  the  terrible  dictatorship  of  Sylla.  In  65  b.c.  he  was 
elected  curule  aedile,  and  increased  bis  popularitj'  by  exhibiting 
three.hundred  and  twenty  pairs  of  gladiators,  and  conducting  all  the 
games  on  a scale  of  unusual  magnificence.  The  expense  of  these 
exhibitions  was  in  great  measure  borne  b}'  his  colleague  il.  Bibulus, 
who  naively  complained  that  Caesar  had  all  the  credit  of  the  shows — 
“ just  as  the  temple  of  the  Dioscuri,  though  belonging  both  to  Castor 
and  Pollux,  bore  the  name  of  Castor  onl3'.  ” But  he  did  not  confine 
himself  to  winning  applause  by  theatrical  spectacles.  As  curator  of 
the  Appian  Way  he  expended  a large  sum  from  his  own  resources. 
The  Cimbrian  trophies  of  lilarius  had  been  thrown  down  b3'  Sylla, 
and  no  publicWemembrance  existed  of  the  services  rendered  to  Rome 
by  her  greatest  soldier.  The  popular  aedile  ordered  the  images  and 
trophies,  with  suitable  inscriptions,  to  be  secretly  restored  ; and  in 
one  night  he  contrived  to  have  them  set  up  upon  the  Capitol,  so  that 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


5 


at  daybreak  men  were  astonished  by  the  unaccustomed  sight.  Old 
soldiers  who  had  served  with  Marius  shed  tears.  All  the  party  op- 
posed to  Sylla  and  the  senate  took  heart  at  this  boldness,  and  recog- 
nized their  chief.  So  important  was  the  matter  deemed,  that  it  was 
brought  before  the  senate,  and  Catulus  accused  Caesar  of  openly  as- 
saulting the  constitution.  But  nothing  was  done  or  could  be  done 
to  check  his  movements.  In  all  things  he  kept  cautiously  within  the 
law. 

The  year-  of  his  aedileship  was  marked  by  the  appearance  of  a man 
destined  to  an  infamous  notoriet}" — L.  Sergius  Catilina,  familiar  to 
all  under  the  name  of  Catiline. 

For  some  time  after  the  death  of  Sylla,  the  weariness  and  desire  of 
repose  which  always  follows  violent  revolutionary  movements  had 
disposed  all  ranks  of  society  to  acquiesce  in  the  senatorial  rule-estab- 
lished by  the  dictator.  But  more  than  one  class  of  men  soon  founu 
themselves  ill  at  ease,  and  the  elements  of  trouble  again  began  to 
move  freely.  All  the  families  proscribed  by  Sylla,  remembering 
tlieir  sometime  wealth  and  consequence,  cherished  the  thoughts  that 
oy  a new  revolution  they  might  recover  what  they  had  lost  ; and  the 
enthusiasm  displayed  when  by  the  happy  temerity  of  Caesar  the 
trophies  of  Marius  were  restored,  revealed  to  the  senate  both  the  num- 
ber and  the  increasing  boldness  of  their  political  enemies.  But  be- 
sides these  avowed  enemies  there  was  a vast  number  of  persons, 
formerly  attached  to  Sylla,  who  shared  the  discontent  of  the  Marian 
party.  ' The  dictator  paid  the  services  of  his  instruments,  but  he  left 
all  real  power  in  the  hands  of  a few  great  families.  His  own 
creatures  were  allowed  to  amass  money,  but  remained  without  polit- 
ical power.  Pompey  and  Crassus,  who  rose  independently  of  him, 
and  almost  in  despite  of  his  will,  belonged  to  families  so  distinguished 
that  in  any  state  of  things  they  might  have  reached  the  consulate. 
But  the  upstarts  who  enjoyed  a transient  greatness  while  Sylla  was 
dictator  found  themselves  rapidly  reduced  to  obscurity.  With  the 
recklessness  of  men  who  had  become  suddenly  rich,  thej^  had  for  the 
most  part  squandered  their  fortunes.  Neither  money  nor  power  was 
theirs.  These  men  were  for  the  most  part  soldiers,  and  ready  for  any 
violence  which  might  restore  their  wealth  and  their  importance. 
They  only  wanted  chiefs.  These  chiefs  they  found  among  the  spend- 
thiift  and  profligate  members  of  noble  families,  who  like  themselves 
had  enjoyed  the  license  of  the  revolutionary  times  now  gone  by,  and 
like  themselves  were  excluded  from  the  councils  of  the  respectable 
though  narrow-minded  men  who  composed  the  senate  and  adminis- 
tered the  government.  These  were  the  young  nobles,  effeminate  and 
debauched,  reckless  of  blood,  of  whom  Oicero  often  speaks  with 
horror. 

Of  these  adventurers  Catiline  was  by  far  the  most  remarkable.  He 
belonged  to  an  old  patrician  gens,  and  had  distinguished  himself 
both  by  valor  and  cruelty  in  the  late  civil  war.  He  is  said  to  have 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


murdeicd  his  own  brother,  and  to  have  secured  impunity  bj’  getting 
the  name  of  his  victim  placed  on  the  proscribed  lists.  A beautiful 
and  profligate  lady,  by  name  Aurelia  Orestilla,  refused  his  prolTercii 
hand  because  he  had  a grown-up  son  by  a former  marriage  ; and  thi:- 
son  speedily  ceased  to  live.  Notwithstanding  thes^  and  other 
crimes,  real  or  imputed,  the  personal  qualities  of  Catiline  gave  him 
great  ascendency  over  the  people  at  large,  and  especially  over  the 
young  nobles,  who  lacked  money,  and  who  were  jealous  of  the  few 
great  families  that  now,  as  before  the  times  of  the  Gracchi,  had  ab- 
sorbed all  political  power.  His  strength  and  activit}^  were  such, 
that,  notwithstanding  his  debaucheries,  he  was  superior  to  the 
soldiers  at  their  own  exercises,  and  could  encounter  skilled  gladi- 
ators with  their  own  weapons.  His  manners  were  open  and  genial, 
and  he  was  never  known  to  desert  friends.  By  qualities  so  nearly 
resembling  virtues,  it  is  not  strange  that  he  deceived  man}%  and  ob- 
tained mastery  over  more.  In  C8  b.c.  he  was  elected  pra;tor,  and  iu 
the  following  year  became  governor  of  the  province  of  Africa.  Here 
he  spent  two  years  in  the  practice  of  everj-  crime  that  is  imputed  to 
Roman  provincial  rulers.  During  the  j'ear  of  Caesar’s  aedileshi]), 
Catiline  was  accused  by  no  less  a person  tiian  the  profligate  P.  Clodi- 
us  Pulcher,  who  cared  not  how  or  at  whose  expense  he  gained  dis- 
tinction. Catiline  had  intended  in  that  year  to  offer  himself  candi- 
date for  the  consulship.  But  while  this  accusation  was  pending,  the 
law  forbade  him  to  come  forward  ; and  this  obstacle  so  irritated  him 
that  he  took  advantage  of  a critical  juncture  of  circumstances  to  plan 
a new  revolution. 

The  senatorial  chiefs,  in  their  wish  to  restore  at  least  an  outward 
show  of  decency,  had  countenanced  the  introduction  of  a ver\'  severe 
law  to  prevent  bribery  by  L.  Calpurnius  Piso,  consul  for  the  year  GT 
B.c.  Under  this  law  P.  Cornelius  Sulla  and  P.  Autronius  Paetus, 
consuls-elect  for  65  b.c.,  were  indicted  and  found  guilt j'.  Their 
election  was  declared  void.  L.  Aurelius  Cotta  and  L.  Manlius  Tor- 
quatus,  their  accusers,  were  nominated  by  the  senate  consuls  in  their 
stead,  without  the  formality  of  a new  election.  Catiline  found 
Autronius  read}'  for  any  violence  ; and  these  two  entered  into  a con- 
spiracy with  another  profligate  young  nobleman,  by  name  Cn.  Piso, 
to  murder  the  new  consuls  on  the  calends  of  January — the  day  on 
which  they  entered  upon  office — and  to  seize  the  supreme  authority 
for  themselves.  The  scheme  is  said  to  have  failed  only  because  Cat- 
iline gave  the  signal  of  attack  before  the  armed  assassins  had  as- 
sembled in  sufficient  numbers  to  begin  their  work. 

That  this  attempt  was  either  not  generally  known  or  not  generally 
believed  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  Cn.  Piso  was  intrusted  by  the 
senate  with  the  government  of  Spain.  Hardly  had  he  arrived  when 
he  was  murdered  by  the  Spanish  horsemen  in  attendance  upon  his  per- 
son, men  who  had  formerly  served  under  Pompey  in, the  Sertorian  war. 
But  who  were  the  instigators  and  what  the  causes  of  this  dark  deed 
were  things  never  known. 


LIFE  OF  JFLIUS  C^SAR. 


7 


Catiline  was  acquitted  on  his  trial,  no  doubt  by  the  interrtional  mis- 
conduct of  the  case  by  Clodius.  We  are  astonished  to  find  the  con- 
sul Torquatus  appear  as  bis  advocate,  and  to  read  a private  letter  of 
Cicero,  in  which  the  orator  expressed  his  willingness  to  undertake 
the  same  disreputable  office.  The  reason  which  he  gives  himself  for 
this  assent  is  that  in  the  next  year  he  was  to  be  candidate  for  the 
consulship  ; if  Catiline  were  acquitted,  he  also  would  be  a com- 
petitor ; and  it  would  be  better  to  have  him  as  a friend  than  as  an 
enemy.  This  alone  speaks  loudly  for  the  influence  of  Catiline  ; for 
at  the  same  time  Cicero  privately  asserts  his  conviction  that  his  guilt 
was  clear  as  noonday. 

In  the  next  year  (64  b.  c.  ) Csesar  made  another  movement  in  ad- 
vance against  the  Syllan  party,  by  bringing  to  trial  two  obscure  men 
who  had  slain  persons  under  the  authority  of  Sylla’s  law  of  proscrip- 
tion. They  were  found  guilty  and  condemned.  One  of  them,  L. 
Bellienus,  was  an  uncle  of  Catiline.  On  this  hint,  L.  Lucceius 
brought  Catiline  himself  to  trial  for  the  same  offence.  He  was  ac- 
quitted, probably  by  the  exercise  of  influence  which  the  obscure  per- 
sons assailed  by  Csesar  were  unable  to  procure.  But  the  condemna- 
tion of  any  person  for  obeying  the  ordinances  of  Sylla  was  a notable 
encroachment  on  the  authority  of  his  constitutional  regulations  ; and 
the  success  which  attended  this  step  showed  the  discretion  and  judg- 
ment of  Csesar  in  the  conduct  of  political  warfare. 

Catiline  was  now  free  to  offer  himself  for  the  consulship.  There 
was  every  reason  to  fear  his  success.  Five  of  the  six  candidates  who 
opposed  him  were  men  of  little  note,  and  many  of  them  men  of  in- 
different character.  The  sixth  was  Cicero,  whose  obscure  birth  was 
a strong  objection  against  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  senatorial  nobility. 
But  they  had  no  choice.  C.  Antonius,  brother  of  M.  Antonins  Cre- 
ticus,  and  younger  son  of  the  great  orator,  was  considered  sure  of  his 
election  ; and  he  was  inclined  to  form  a coalition  with  Catiline.  Ci- 
cero was  supported  by  the  Equites,  by  the  friends  of  Pompey  whom 
he  had  so  well  served  by  his  speech  for  the  Manilian  law,  and  by  a 
number  of  persons  whom  he  had  obliged  by  his  services  as  advocate. 
What  part  he  had  hitherto  taken  in  politics  had  been  decidedly  in 
opposition  to  the  senate.  In  early  youth  he  had  distinguished  him- 
self by  a daring  attack  upon  Sylla’s  proscriptions.  As  aedile-elect 
he  had  strengthened  the  hands  of  Pompey  in  his  assault  on  the  sen- 
atorial courts  by  his  bold  and  uncompromising  accusation  of  Verres. 
Lastly,  he  had  given  offence  to  Catulus  and  the  leaders  of  the  senate 
by  his  eloquent  support  of  the  Manilian  law.  But  necessity  knows 
no  rule  ; and  to  keep  out  Catiline,  whom  they  feared  and  hated,  the 
senatorial  chiefs  resolved  to  support  Cicero,  whom  they  disliked  and 
despised.  The  orator  himself  showed  his  usual  activity.  Publicly 
he  inveighed  against  the  coalition  of  Antonius  and  Catiline  ; private- 
ly he  made  advances  to  Antonius.  His  personal  popularity  and  th« 
support  of  the  aristocracy  placed  him  at  the  head  of  the  poll.  Ag. 


8 


IIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


tonius  was  returned  as  his  colleague,  though  he  headed  Catiline  by 
the  votes  of  very  few  centuries. 

We  now  come  to  the  memorable  j'^ear  of  Cicero’s  consulship,  63 
B.c.  It  was  generally  believed  that  Catiline’s  second  disappoint- 
ment in  suing  for  the  chief  object  of  a Roman’s  ambition  would 
drive  him  to  a second  conspiracy.  Immediately  after  his  election, 
Cicero  at  once  attached  himself  to  the  senate  and  justified  their 
choice.  To  detach  Antonius  from  connection  with  Catiline,  he  vol- 
untarily ceded  to  him  the  lucrative  province  of  jMaccdonia,  which  he 
had  obtained  by  lot.  But  Catiline's  mea.sures  were  conducted  with 
so  much  secrecy  that  for  several  months  no  clue  was  obtained  to  his 
designs. 

Meantime  Cicero  had  other  difficulties  to  meet.  Among  the  trib- 
unes of  the  year  were  two  persons  attached  to  C®sar’s  party,  Q.  Ser- 
vilius  Rullus  and  T.  Atius  Labienus.  The  tribunes  entered  upon 
their  office  nearly  a month  before  the  consuls  ; and  in  these  few  days 
Rullus  had  come  forward  with  an  agrarian  law,  lij'  which  it  was 
proposed  to  revive  the  measure  of  Cinna,  and  dieide  the  rich  public 
lancls  of  Campania  among  the  poor  citizens  of  the  tribes.  Cicero’s 
devotion  to  his  new  political  friends  was  shown  b}'  the  readj^  alacrity 
witli  which  he  opposed  this  popular  measure.  On  the  calends  of 
January,  tlie  very  da}"^  upon  which  he  entered  office,  he  delivered  a 
vehement  harangue  iu  the  senate  against  the  measure,  which  he  fol- 
lowed up  by  elaborate  speeches  in  the  forum.  He  pleased  himself 
by  thinking  that  it  was  in  consequence  of  these  efforts  that  Rullus 
withdrew  iiis  bill.  But  it  is  probable  that  CiEsar,  the  real  author  of 
the  law,  cared  little  for  its  present  success.  In  bringing  it  forward 
he  secured  favor  for  himself.  In  forcing  Cicero  to  take  part  against 
it,  he  deprived  the  eloquent  orator  of  a large  portion  of  his  hard-won 
popularity. 

Soon  after  this  Caesar  employed  the  services  of  T.  i-.abienus  to 
follow  up  the  blow  which  in  'the  preceding  year  he  had  struck 
against  the  proscription  of  Sylla  by  an  assault  upon  the  arbitrary 
power  assumed  by  the  senate  in  dangerous  emergencies.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  in  the  sixth  consulship  of  Marius  the  revolutionary 
enterprise  of  the  tribune  Saturninus  had  been  put  down  I13'  resort- 
ing to  the  arbitrary  power  just  noticed.  Labienus,  whose  uncle  had 
perished  by  the  side  of  Saturninus,  now  indicted  C.  Rabirius,  ;ui 
aged  senator,  for  having  slain  the  tribune.  It  was  well  known  that 
the  actual  perpetrator  of  the  deed  was  a slave  named  Scaeva,  who 
had  been  publicly  rewarded  for  his  services.  But  Rabirius  had  cer- 
tainly been  in  the  midst  of  the  assailants,  and  it  was  ea.sy  to  accuse 
him  of  comiilicity.  The  actual  charge  brought  against  him  was  that 
he  was  guilty  of  high  treason  {perdudlio)  \ and  if  he  were  found 
guilty,  it  ■would  follow  that  all  persons  who  hereafter  obeyed  the 
senate  in  taking  up  arms  against  seditious  persons  would  be  liable  to 
a similar  charge.  The  cause  was  tried  before  the  duumviri,  oue  of 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


P. 


«vhom  was  L.  Caesar,  consul  of  the  preceding  3'ear  ; the  other  was  C. 
Caesar  himself.  Hortensius  and  Cicero  defended  the  old  senator.  It 
would  seem  almost  impossible  for  Caesar  to  condemn  an  act  which 
was  justified  by  Marius  himself,  who  had  been  obliged  to  lead  the 
assault  upon  the  tribune’s  party.  But  Caesar's  object  was  wholly 
political,  and  he  was  not  troubled  by  scruples.  The  duumviri  found 
Kabirius  guilty. 

From  this  j udgment  the  old  senator  appealed  to  the  popular  assembly. 
Cicero  again  came  forward,  in  his  consular  robes,  to  defend  him.  He 
was  only  allowed  half  an  hour  for  his  speech  ; but  the  defence  which 
he  condensed  into  that  narrow  space  was  unanswerable,  and  must 
have  obtained  a verdict  for  his  client,  if  it  had  been  addressed  to  a 
calm  audience.  The  people,  however,  were  eager  to  humiliate  the 
senatorial  government,  and  were  ready  to  vote,  not  according  tc  the 
justice  of  the  case,  but  according  to  their  present  political  passion. 
In  vain  the  senators  descended  into  the  as.'einbl3^  and  implored  for  a 
vote  of  acquittal.  Kabirius  would  certainlj'  have  been  condemned 
had  not  Q.  Metcllus  Celer,  prsetor  of  the  city,  taken  down  the  standard 
which  from  ancient  times  floated  from  the  Janiculum  during  the  sit- 
ting of  the  comitia."  But  CaBsar’s  purpose  was  effectually  answered 
The  governing  body  had  been  humbled,  .and  their  right  to  place 
seditious  persons  under  a sentence  of  outlawry  had  been  called  in 
question.  IVe  may  almost  suppose  that  Caesar  himself  suggested  to 
Metellus  the  mode  of  stopping  the  trial  ; for  he  was  never  inclined  to 
shed  blood  and  oppress  the  innocent,  unless  when  he  deemed  it 
necessary  for  his  political  ends. 

About  the  same  time  Caesar  promoted  an  accusation  against  C. 
Caipuiniius  Piso  for  malversation  in  his  government  of  Gallia  Nar- 
bonensis.  Piso,  when  consul,  had  led  the  eppesitieu  to  the  Gabinian 
law.  He  was  acquitted  on  the  present  charge,  and  became  one  of 
Caesar’s  most  determined  enemies. f 

Cicero  lost  still  more  favor  by  the  successful  opposition  which  he 
offered  to  an  attempt  to  restore  to  their  political  rights  the  sons  of 
those  who  had  been  on  the  proscribed  lists  of  Sylla.  In  this  he  well 
served  the  purpose  of  the  senate  by  excluding  from  the  comitia  their 
mortal  enemies  ; but  he  incurred  many  personal  enmities,  and  he  ad- 
vocated a sentence  which  was  manifestly  unjust  and  could  be  just 
fled  only  by  necessity.  In  return  for  these  services  he  induced  his 
new  friends  to  second  him  in  some  measures  of  practical  reform. 
He  procured  a law  against  briberj'  still  more  stringent  than  the  Cal- 


* A custom  probably  derived  from  the  times  when  the  Etruscans  Were  for*  <5f 
Rome.  The  removal  of  the  standard  was,  in  those  times,  a signal  of  the  enemy’s 
approach,  and  on  this  signal  the  Comitia  Centuriata  became  an  army  i’eady  for  bat- 
tle. The  form  remained,  though  the.reason  had  long  passed  away. 

t This  C.  Piso,  the  aristocrat,  must  be  carefully  distinguished  from  Cn.  Piso  the 
dissolute  associate  of  Catiline,  and  from  L.  Piso,  the  enemy  of  Cicero  and  father-in- 
law  of  Cassar.  Several  other  Pispa  pccuf  }B  tlfis  period,  and  their  identity  of  name 
iesds  to  some  confusion. 


19 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


purnian  law  of  67  b.c.  At  his  instance  the  senate  gave  up  the  priv- 
ilege by  which  every  senator  was  entitled  to  free  quarters  in  any  city 
of  the  empire,  on  pretence  that  they  were  engaged  in  the  service  of 
the  state.  , 

About  this  time  the  age  and  infirmities  of  Metellus  Pius  made 

Erobable  a vacancy  in  the  high  office  of  pontifex  maximus  ; and 
abienus  introduced  a law  by  v/hich  the  right  of  election  to  this  office 
was  restored  to  the  tribes,  according  to  the  rule  observed  before 
Sylla’s  revolution.  Very  soon  after,  Metellus  died,  and  Coe.sar  offered 
himself  as  a candidate  for  this  high  office.  Catulus,  chief  of  t)ie  sen. 
ate  and  the  respectable  leader  of  the  governing  party,  also  came  for- 
ward, as  well  as  P.  Servilius  Isauricus.  Caesar  had  been  one  of  the 
pontiffs  from  early  youth  ; but  he  was  known  to  be  unsciupulous  in 
his  pleasures  as  in  his  politics,  overwhelmed  with  debt,  careles.s  of 
religion.  His  election,  however,  was  a trial  of  politieal  strength 
merely.  It  was  considered  so  certain,  that  Catulus  attempted  to  take 
advantage  of  the  heavy  debts  Vvhich  embarrassed  him  by  offering 
him  a large  sum  if  he  would  retire  from  the  contest.  Caesar  percm|i- 
torily  refused,  saying  that  if  more  money  were  necessary  for  his  pui  - 
poses  he  would  borrow  more.  He  probablj’  anticipated  that  the  sen- 
ate would  use  force  to  Oppose  him  ; for  ou  the  morning  of  the  elec- 
tion he  parted  from  his  mother  Aurelia  with  the  words,  " I shall  le- 
turn  as  pontifex  maximus,  or  3’ou  wdll  see  me  m more.”  His  suc- 
cess was  triumphant.  Even  in  the  tribes  to  which  his  opponents  lie- 
louged  he  obtained  more  votes  than  thej"^  counted  altogether.  Xo 
fact  can  more  strongly  prove  the  strength  wdiich  the  popular  paiiy 
had  regained  under  his  adroit  but  uuseeu  managemeut.  It  is  worth 
noting  that  in  this  j^ear,  w'hen  he  first  appeared  as  master  of  the 
forum,  was  born  his  sister’s  son,  M.  Octavius,  who  reaped  the  fruit 
of  all  his  ambitious  endeavors. 

The  j'ear  was  now  fast  waning,  and  nothing  was  known  to  the 
public  of  any  attempts  ou  the  part  of  Catiline.  That  dark  and  enter- 
prising person  had  offered  hiriseif  again  as  candidate  for  the  consul- 
ship, and  he  was  anxious  to  keep  all  quiet  till  the  result  was  known. 
But  Cicero  had  become  acquainted  with  a woman  named  Fulvia. 
mistress  to  Curius,  one  of  Catiline’s  confidential  friends,  and  bj'  her 
means  he  obtained  immediate  knowledge  of  all  the  designs  of  the 
conspirators.  At  length  he  considered ! hem  so  far  advanced,  that  on 
the  31st  of  October  he  convened  the  senate  and  laid  all  his  informa- 
tion before  them.  So  convinced  were  thev'  of  the  danger,  that  on  the 
next  day  a decree  was  framed  to  invest  the  consuls  with  dictatorial 
power,  to  be  used  at  their  discretion.  At  present,  however,  this  de- 
cree was  kept  secret. 

Soon  after,  the  consular  comitia  were  held,  and  the  election  of  the 
centuries  fell  on  D.  Junius  Silauus  and  L.  Liciuius  IMurtna,  1,'Oth  of 
them  adherents  of  the  senatcrial-party.  Catiline,  u.’saupoluted  of  his 
last  hopes  of  election,  couveued  his  friends  at  the  house  of  M.  For 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


11 


cius  Lseca,  on  tlie  nights  of  the  Gth  and  7th  of  November  ; * and  at 
this  meeting  it  was  determined  to  proceed  to  action.  C.  Mallius,  an 
old  centurion,  who  had  been  emplo^’cd  in  levying  troops  secretly  in 
Etruria,  was  sent  to  Ftesulije  as  headquarters,  and  ordered  to  prepare 
for  war  ; Catiline  and  the  rest  of  his  associates  were  to  organize  rev- 
olutionary movements  within  the  city. 

Cicero  was  immediately  informed  of  these  resolutions  through 
Fulvia,  and  resolved  to  dally  no  longer  with  the  peril.  He  summoned 
tlie  senate  to  meet  on  the  8th  of  November  in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter 
Stator.  Catiline,  himself  a senator,  with  marvellous  effrontery,  ap- 
peared in  his  place  ; but  every  senator  quitted  the  bench  on  which 
he  took  his  seat  and  left  him  alone.  Cicero  now  rose  and  delivered 
that  famous  speech  which  is  entitled  his  First  Oration  against  Catiline. 
The  conspirator  attempted  to  reply  ; but  a general  shout  of  execra- 
tion drowned  his  voice.  Unable  to  obtain  a hearing,  he  left  the 
senate-house  ; and,  perceiving  that  his  life  was  in  danger  if  he  re- 
mained at  Rome,  he  summoned  his  associates  together,  and  handed 
over  the  execution  of  his  designs  at  home  to  M.  Lentulus  Sura,  praetor 
of  the  city,  and  C.  Cethegus,  while  on  that  same  night  he  himself 
left  Rome  to  join  Mallius  at  Faesulae.  On  the  following  morning 
Cicero  assembled  the  people  in  the  forum,  and  there  in  his  second 
speech  he  told  them  of  the  flight  of  Catiline  and  explained  its  cause. 

The  senate  now  made  a second  decree,  in  which  Catiline  and  Mal- 
lius were  proclaimed  public  enemies  ; and  the  consul  Antonius  was 
directed  to  take  the  command  of  an  army  destined  to  act  against 
him,  while  to  Cicero  was  committed  the  care  of  the  city.  Cicero 
was  at  a loss  how  to  act ; for  he  was  not  able  to  bring  forward  Ful- 
via as  a witness,  and  after  the  late  proceedings  against  Rabirius  he 
was  obliged  to  be  very  cautious  in  resorting  to  the  use  of  dictatorial 
power.  But  at  this  moment  he  obtained  full  and  direct  proof  of  the 
intentions  of  the  conspirators.  There  were  then  present  at  Rome 
ambassadors  from  the  Allobroges,  whose  business  it  was  to  solicit 
relief  from  the  oppression  of  their  governors  and  from  the  debts 
which  they  had  incurred  to  the  Roman  treasury.  The  senate  heard 
them  coldly,  and  Lentulus  took  advantage  of  their  discontent  to 
make  overtures  to  them  in  hope  of  obtaining  military  aid  from  their 
countrymen  against  the  senatorial  leaders.  At  first  they  lent  a ready 
ear  to  bis  offers,  but  thought  it  prudent  to  disclose  these  offers  to  Q. 
Fahius  8anga,  whose  family  had  long  been  engaged  to  protect  their 
interests  at  Rome.f  Fabius  at  once  communicated  with  Cicero.  By 
the  consul’s  directions,  the  Allobrogian  envoys  continued  their  in- 


* Our  Jan.  lltli,  62  b.o.  In  this  and  all  following  dates  correction  must  be  made 
to  obtain  the  real  time.  The  Roman  1st  of  January  of  this  year  would  be  by  our 
reckoning  the  14th  of  March.  It  must  be  observed  also  that  the  Romans  reckoned 
the  night  as  belonging  to  the  following  day.  What  we  call  the  night  of  the  6th  ot 
Norember  would  be  with  them  the  night  of  the  7th. 

1:  They  had  been  conquered  by  Q.  Fabius  Maximus,  nephew  of  Scipio  ^miliimni. 


12 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  CiESAR. 


trigue  with  Lentulus,  and  demanded  written  orders,  signed  by  him- 
self, Cethegus,  and  others  of  the  chief  conspiratois,  to  serve  as  cre- 
dentials to  their  nation.  Bearing  these  fatal  documents,  the^'  set  out 
from  Borne  on  the  evening  of  the  3d  of  December  (dth  of  February, 
B-C.),  accompanied  by  one  T.  Vulturcius,  who  carried  letters  from 
Lentulus  to  Catiline  himself.  Cicero,  kept  in  full  information  of 
every  fact,  ordered  the  praetors  L.  Flaccus  and  C.  Pomptinus  to 
take  post  with  a sufficient  force  upon  the  Mulvian  Bridge.  Here  the 
envoys  were  quietly  arrested,  together  with  Vulturcius,  and  all  their 
papers  were  seized. 

Early  next  morning,  Cicero  sent  for  Lentulus,  Cethegus,  and  the 
others  who  had  signed  the  Allobrogian  credentials,  to  his  house. 
Utterly  ignorant  of  what  had  passed,  they  came  ; and  the  consul, 
holding  the  praetor  Lentulus  by  the  hand,  and  followed  b}'  the  rest, 
went  straight  to  the  Temple  of  Concord,  where  he  had  summoned 
the  senate  to  meet.  Vulturcius  and  the  Allobrogian  envoys  were 
now  brought  in,  and  the  praetor  Flaccus  produced  tlie  papers  which 
he  had  seized.  The  evidence  was  so  clearly  brought  to  a point  that 
the  conspirators  at  once  confessed  their  handwriting  ; and  the  senate 
decreed  that  Lentulus  should  be  deprived  of  his  praetorship,  and 
that  he  with  his  accomplices  should  be  put  into  the  hands  of  eminent 
senators,  who  were  to  be  answei'able  for  their  persons.  Lentulus  fell 
to  the  charge  of  P.  Lentulus  Spinther,  who  was  then  aedile,  Cethegus 
to  that  of  Q.  Cornificius,  Statilius  to  Caesar,  Gabinius  to  Crassus, 
Caeparius  to  Cn.  Terentius.  Immediately  after  the  execution  of  this 
decree,  Cicero  went  forth  into  the  forum,  and  in  his  third  speech  de- 
tailed to  the  assembled  people  all  the  circumstances  which  had  been 
discovered.  Not  only  had  two  knightS  been  commissioned  by 
Cethegus  to  kill  Cicero  in  his  chamber,  a fate  which  the  consul 
eluded  by  refusing  them  admission,  but  it  had  been  resolved  to  set 
the  city  on  fire  in  twelve  places  at  once,  as  soon  as  it  was  known  that 
Catiline  and  Mallius  were  ready  to  advance  at  the  head  of  an  armed 
force.  Lentulus,  who  belonged  to  the  great  Cornelian  gens,  had 
been  buoyed  up  by  a Sibylline  prophecy,  ■which  promised  the  domin- 
ion over  Borne  to  “ three  C’s  he  was  to  be  the  third  Cornelius 
after  Cornelius  Ciuna  and  Cornelius  Sylla.  But  it  was  to  his  slug- 
gish remissuess  that  the  fiery  Cethegus  attributed  their  ignominious 
failure  ; and  it  is  probable  that  if  the  chief  conduct  of  the  business 
had  been  left  to  this  desperate  man,  some  attempt  at  a rising  would 
have  been  made. 

The  certainty  of  danger  and  the  feeling  of  escape  filled  all  hearts 
with  indignation  against  the  Catilinarian  gang  ; and  for  a moment 
Cicero  and  the  senate  rose  to  the  height  of  popularity. 

Two  days  after  (December  5 = February  7,  G2  b.c.),  the  senate 
Was  once  more  summoned  to  decide  the  fate  of  the  captive  conspira- 
tors. Silanus,  as  consul-elect,  was  first  asked  his  opinion,  and  he 
gave  it  in  favor  of  death.  Ti.  Nero  moved  that  the  question  should 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


13 


be  adjourned  till  tlie  contest  with  Catiline  in  the  field  was  brought  to 
an  end.  Caesar,  who  was  then  praetor-elect,  spoke  against  capital 
punishment  altogether,  and  proposed  that  the  prisoners  should  he 
condemned  to  perpetual  chains  in  various  cities  of  Italy — taking  care 
incidentally  to  moot  the  question  lately  raised  in  the  case  of  Rabirius 
as  to  the  power  of  the  senate  to  inflict  the  penalty  of  death.  His 
speech  produced  such  an  effect  that  even  Silanus  declared  his  inten- 
tion to  accede  to  Nero’s  motion.  But  Cicero  himself  and  Cato  de- 
livered vehement  arguments  in  favor  of  extreme  punishment,  and  the 
majority  voted  with  them.  Immediately  after  the  vote,  the  consul, 
with  a strong  guard,  conveyed  the  prisoners  to  the  loathsome  dungeon 
called  the  Tullianum,  and  here  they  were  strangled  by  the  public  ex- 
ecutioners. 

It  is  difficult  to  see  how  the  state  could  have  been  imperilled  by 
suffering  the  culprits  to  live — at  least  till  they  had  been  allowed  the 
chances  of  a regular  trial.  If  Rabirius  was  held  guilty  for  taking 
part  in  putting  Saturninus  to  death — -a  man  who  was  actually  in  arms 
against  the  government — what  had  Cicero  to  expect  from  those  who 
were  ready  to  deliver  this  verdict  ? It  was  not  long  before  he  had 
cause  to  rue  his  over-zealous  haste.  But,  at  present,  a panic  fear 
pervaded  all  classes.  No  one  knew  what  danger  threatened  and  w'ho 
might  be  the  sufferers.  At  the  moment,  the  popular  voice  ratified 
the  judgment  of  Cato,  when  he  proclaimed  Cicero  to  have  justly  de- 
served the  title  of  ‘ ‘ Father  of  his  Country.  ’ ’ 

Before  the  close  of  the  consular  year,  the  consul-elect  Murena  was 
indicted  by  0.  Sulpicius,  one  of  his  competitors,  for  bribery.  The 
accusation  was  supported  by  Cato.  Hortensius  and  Cicero  undertook 
the  defence.  Cicero’s  speech  is  extant  ; and  the  buoyant  spirits  with 
which  he  assails  first  the  legal  pedantry  of  Sulpicius  and  then  the  im- 
practicable stoicism  of  Cato  show  how  highly  he  was  elated  by  his 
late  successful  management  in  crushing  the  conspiracy  at  home. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Murena  was  guilty.  The  only  argument 
of  any  force  used  in  his  defence  by  Cicero  was  his  statement  of  the 
danger  of  leaving  the  state  with  but  one  consul  when  Catiline  was  at 
the  head  of  an  army  in  the  field.  And  this  argument  probably  it 
was  that  procured  the  acquittal  of  the  consul-elect. 

The  sequel  may  be  briefly  related.  Before  the  execution  of  his  ac- 
complices,  Catiline  was  at  the  head  of  two  complete  legions,  consist- 
ing chiefly  of  Sylla’s  veterans.  But  servile  insurrections  in  Apulia 
and  other  places,  on  which  Catiline  counted,  were  promptly  re- 
pressed : his  own  small  army  was  very  imperfectly  armed  ; and  their 
leader  avoided  a conflict  with  Antonius,  who  was  continued  iu  com- 
mand as  pro-consul.  When  the  failure  of  the  plot  at  home  reached 
the  insurgents,  many  deserted  ; and  Catiline  endeavored  to  make 
good  his  retreat  by  Pistoja  into  Cisalpine  Gaul.  But  the  passes  were 
already  beset  by  the  pro-praetor  Metellus  Celer  ; the  consul  Antonius 
was  close  behind  ; and  it  becanie  necessary  either  to  fight  or  surren- 


14 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAK. 


der.  Catiline  and  liis  desperadoes  chose  the  braver  course.  His 
small  army  was  drawn  up  with  skill.  Aiitonius,  mindful  of  former 
intimacy  with  Catiline,  alleged  illness  as  a plea  for  giving  up  the 
command  of  his  troops  to  if.  Petreius,  a skilful  soldier.  A short  hut 
desperate  conflict  followed.  Mallius  and  his  best  officers  fell  fight- 
ing bravel}'.  Catiline,  after  doing  the  duties  of  a good  general  and  a 
brave  soldier,  saw  that  the  day  was  lost,  and  rushing  into  the  thick 
of  battle  fell  with  many  wounds.  He  was  taken  up,  still  breathing, 
with  a menacing  frown  stamped  upon  his  brow.  Xone  were  taken 
prisoners  ; all  who  died  had  their  wounds  in  front. 

It  is  impossible  to  part  from  this  strange  history  without  adding  a 
word  with  respect  to  the  part  taken  by  Ctesar  and  Crassus.  Both 
these  eminent  persons  were  supposed  to  have  been  more  or  less  privy 
to  Catiline’s  designs.  If  the  first  conspiracy  attributed  to  Catiline 
had  succeeded,  we  are  told  that  the  assassins  of  the  consuls  had  in- 
tended to  declare  Crassus  dictator,  and  that  Caesar  was  to  be  master 
of  the  horse.  Suetonius,  in  his  love  for  improbable  gossip,  goes  so 
far  as  to  make  Caesar  a principal  actor  in  that  first  conspiracy  ; and 
many  senators  believed,  or  determined  to  believe,  that  he  at  least,  if 
not  Crassus,  was  guilty. 

Nothing  seems  more  improbable  tharr  that  Crassus  should  have 
countenanced  a plan  which  involved  the  destruction  of  the  city,  and 
which  must  have  been  followed  bj'  the  ruin  of  credit.  He  had  con- 
stantly employed  the  large  fortune  which  he  had  amassed  in  the  Syl- 
lan  proscription  for  the  purposes  of  specirlatiou  and  jobbing.  One 
profltable  branch  of  the  latter  business  was  to  buy  up  promising 
youths,  give  them  a first-rate  education  in  music  or  any  art  to  which 
they  showed  an  aptitude,  and  then  sell  them  at  enormous  prices.  Sjrec- 
ulatioirs  of  this  sort  could  only  succeed  in  a state  of  political  securitj'. 
To  a money-lender,  speculator,  and  jobber,  a violent  revolution,  at- 
tended by  destruction  of  property  and  promising  abolition  of  debts, 
would  be  of  all  things  the  least  desirable.  Crassus  was  not  without 
ambition,  but  he  never  gratified  the  lust  of  power  at  the  e.xpense  of 
his  lAirse. 

The  case  against  Ctesar  bears  at  first  sight  more  likelihood.  Sal- 
lust represents  Cato  as  hinting  that  Ctesar's  wish  to  spare  the  con- 
spirators arose  from  his  complicit}'  with  them.  As  that  unflinching 
politician  was  speaking  in  the  debate  on  the  punishment  of  the  con- 
spirators, a note  was  privately'  put  into  Caesar’s  hand.  Cato  stopped 
and  demanded  that  the  note  should  be  read  aloud.  Caesar  handed  it 
to  his  accuser  ; it  was  a billet-doux  from  Servilia,  the  sister  of  Cato 
himself  and  wife  of  Silanus.  “ Take  it,  drunkard,"  retorted  the  disap- 
pointed speaker.  This  first  attack,  then,  had  signally  failed.  But  in 
the  next  y'car  (63  b.c.),  after  Cae.sar  had  entered  upon  his  proctorship, 
accusations  were  brought  against  several  persons  who  were  doubtless 
guilty'.  Among  them  Autronius,  the  accomplice  of  Catiline  in  his 
first  conspiracy',  earnestly  implored,  Cicero  to  be  his  advocate.  The 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


15 


orator  refused^  and  Autronius  was  condemned.  But,  immediately 
after  this,  tlie  world  was  scandalized  to  see  the  orator  undertake  the 
defence  of  P.  Sylla,  who  had  been  the  colleague  of  Autronius,  when 
both  were  ejected  from  the  consulship — more  especially  when  it  was 
whispered  that  he  had  received  a large  sum  for  his  services.  The 
speech  remains,  and  a comparison  of  this  pleading  with  his  Catilina- 
rian  speeches  shows  that  the  latitude  which  Cicero  allowed  himself 
as  an  advocate  was  tittle  compatible  with  his  new  character  of  a po- 
litical leader.  Notwithstanding  the  failure  of  the  indictment  against 
P.  Sylla,  the  success  which  had  lately  attended  their  political  efforts 
encouraged  some  of  the  senatorial  chiefs  to  raise  a formal  accusation 
against  Caesar.  A person  called  Vettius,  already  employed  by  Cicero 
as  a spy,  had  made  a gainful  trade  of  his  informations,  and  he  offered 
to  produce  a letter  from  Caesar  to  Catiline  which  would  prove  his 
guilt.  Curius  also  came  forward  with  similar  assertions.  Cicero 
and  the  more  prudent  of  the  senators  wished  at  once  to  quash  these 
tales.  But  Caesar  would  not  be  content  with  this,  and  in  full  senate 
he  called  on  the  ex-consul  to  state  what  he  knew  of  the  matter. 
Cicero  rose,  and  in  the  most  explicit  manner  declared  that  so  far 
from  Caesar  being  implicated  in  the  plot,  he  had  done  all  that  could 
be  expected  from  a good  citizen  to  assist  in  crushing  it.  The  people, 
having  learned  what  was  the  question  before  the  senate,  crowded  to 
the  doors  of  the  house  and  demanded  Caesar’s  safety.  His  appear- 
ance assured  them,  and  he  was  welcomed  with  loud  applause.  It 
was  only  by  his  interference  that  Vettius  was  saved  from  being  torn 
in  pieces.  Curius  was  punished  by  the  lossof  the  reward  which  had 
been  promised  for  his  information. 

In  truth,  of  evidence  to  prove  Caesar’s  complicity  with  Catiline, 
there  was  really  none  ; and  the  further  the  case  is  examined  the  less 
appears  to  be  the  probability  of  such  complicity.  The  course  he  had 
pursued  for  the  purpose  of  undermining  the  power  of  the  senatorial 
aristocracy'  was  perfectly  consistent,  and  had  been  so  successful 
hitherto  that  he  was  little  likely  to  abandon  it  at  this  precise  moment 
for  a scheme  of  reckless  ruin  and  violence  from  which  others  would 
reap  the  chief  advantage.  Even  if  Catiline  had  succeeded,  he  must 
have  been  crushed  almost  immediately  by  Pompey,  who  was  prepar- 
ing to  return  to  Italy'  at  the  head  of  his  victorious  legions.  'The  de- 
sire of  Caesar  to  save  the  lives  of  Lentulus,  Cethegus,  and  the  rest,  is 
at  once  explained,  when  we  remember  that  he  had  just  before  pro- 
moted the  prosecution  of  Rabirius  for  obeying  an  order  of  the  very 
kind  against  which  he  now  argued.  As  the  leader  of  the  party'  of 
the  Gracchi,  of  Saturninus,  and  of  Jlarius,  it  was  his  cue  always  and 
everywhere  to  protest  against  the  absolute  power  assumed  by  the 
senate  in  such  emergencies  as  unconstitutional  and  illegal.  It  is 
possible  that  he  may  have  suspected  the  designs  of  Catiline  ; and  at 
an  earlier  period  he  may  have  been  sounded  by  that  reckless  person, 
os  a well-known  opponent  of  the  senate.  But  without  claiming  for 


16 


LIFE  OF  ..ULIUS  C.ESAR. 


Caesar  any  credit  for  principle  or  scrupulosity,  we  may'  safely  con- 
clude that  it  was  utterly  inexpedient  for  him  to  have  any  dealings 
with  Catiline  ; and  we  may  be  sure  that  he  was  the  last  man  to  be 
misled  into  a rash  enterprise  which  was  not  expedient  for  himself. 


CHAPTER  II. 

pompet’s  eeturn— first  triumvirate — c.esar’s  consulship — 
CLODIUS.  (C2-58  B.C.) 

In  the  first  heat  of  his  triumph,  Cicero  disclosed  the  weakness  of 
his  character.  He  was,  to  speak  plaiDly^  full  of  inordinate  vanity,  a 
quality  which  above  all  others  deprives  a man  of  the  social  and  polit- 
ical inlluence  which  may  otherwise  be  due  to  his  integiily,  industry, 
and  ability.  The  more  violent  among  the  senators  who  had  taken 
him  for  their  leader  in  the  Catilinarian  troubles  were  offended  by  his 
refusal  to  assail  Caesar  ; all  the  order  was  di.sgusted  by  the  consiaut 
iteration  of  his  merits.  An  oligarchy  will  readily  accept  the  services 
of  men  of  the  yieople  ; but  they  never  cordially  unite  with  tliem.  and 
never  forgive  a marked  assumption  of  personal  superiority.  But  it 
was  not  only  the  senate  at  home  that  was  irritated  by  hearing  Cicero 
repeat,  “I  am  the  savior  of  Rome;  I am  the  father  of  my  coun- 
try.” Pompey  was  now  in  Greece,  on  the  eve  of  returning  to  Italy, 
and  he  had  been  watching  Cicero’s  rise  to  political  eminence  not 
without  jealousy.  Metellus  Nepos,*  his  legate,  had  already'  re- 
turned to  Rome  with  instructions  from  his  chief,  and  had  been 
elected  Tribune  for  the  next  y'ear.  Cicero,  in  the  fulness  of  his 
heart,  wrote  Pompey  a long  account  of  his  consulate,  in  which  he 
had  the  ill  address  to  compare  his  own  triumph  over  Catiline  with 
Pompey ’s  eastern  conquests.  The  general  in  his  reply  took  no  no- 
tice of  Cicero’s  actions  ; and  the  orator  wrote  him  a submissive  let- 
ter, in  which  he  professes  his  hope  of  play'ing  Lselius  to  his  great 
correspondent’s  Africanus.  Meanwhile  Metellus  Nepos  had  entered 
upon  his  tribuniciau  office,  and  made  no  secret  of  his  disapproval  of 
Cicero’s  conduct  in  putting  citizens  to  death  without  trial.  On  the 
calends  of  January,  when  the  ex- consul  intended  to  have  delivered 
an  elaborate  panegyric  on  himself  and  the  senate  for  their  conduct 
in  the  'ate  events,  the  tribune  interdicted  him  from  speaking  at  ail. 
He  could  do  nothing  more  than  step  forward  and  swear  aloud  that 
“ he  alone  had  preserved  the  republic.  ” The  people,  not  yet  recov- 

* Several  Metelli  are  mixed  up  with  the  history  of  this  period.  Metellus  Xepos 
was  the  younger  brother  of  Metellus  Celer,  who  as  praetor  was  in  arms  against 
Catiline  in  Cisalpine  Gaul.  They  were  great-grandsons  of  Metellus  Balearicus,  and 
therefore  distant  cousins  of  Metellus  Piua, 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAB.  17 

ered  from  the  fear  of  Catiline  and  his  crew,  shouted  in  answer  that 
he  had  sworn  the  truth. 

Metellus  Nepos  followed  up  this  assault  by  two  bills — one  empow- 
ering Pompey  to  be  elected  consul  for  the  second  time  in  his  absence  ; 
the  other  investing  him  with  the  command  in  Italj'  for  the  purpose 
of  quelling  the  insurrection  of  Catiline.  Caesar  supported  both  these 
motions  ; but  when  Nepos  began  to  read  them  to  the  people  previ- 
ous to  submitting  them  to  the  votes  of  the  assembly,  Cato,  who  was 
also  one  of  the  tribunes  for  the  j'ear,  snatched  the  paper  from  the 
hand  of  his  colleague  and  tore  it  in  pieces.  Nepos  then  began  to  re- 
cite his  laws  from  memory  ; but  another  tribune  who  was  in  the  in- 
terest of  the  senate  placed  his  hand  over  his  mouth.  A tumult  fol- 
lowed. But  popular  feeling  was  at  present  with  those  who  had  so 
resolutely  opposed  Catiline.  Nepos  was  obliged  to  forego  his  bills, 
and  for  the  time  the  senate  triumphed  over  the  agent  of  Pompey. 

On  laying  down  his  prsetorship  at  the  close  of  the  year,  Ccesar  ob- 
tained Spain  for  his  province.  His  debtors,  fearing  that  he  might 
elude  them  altogether,  threatened  to  detain  him  ; and  in  this  emer- 
gency he  applied  to  Crassus,  with  whom  he  had  for  some  time  culti- 
vated friendly  relations.  Crassus,  believing  in  the  fortune  of  Caesar, 
advanced  the  required  sums,  and  the  pro-praetor  set  out  for  Spain  at 
the -very  beginning  of  the  year  61  b.c. 

Pompey,  after  his  progress  through  Greece,  had  arrived  in  Italy, 
but  not  at  Rome.  Great  apprehensions  were  felt  there  ; for  he  was 
at  the  head  of  an  army  devoted  to  his  person,  and  therefore  his 
newer  was  not  to  be  doubted  ; he  was  as  silent  on  political  matters 
as  Monk  on  the  eve  of  the  Restoration,  and  therefore  his  intentions 
were  suspected.  But  all  fears  and  jealousies  were  dissipated  for  the 
moment,  when  he  addressed  his  soldiers  at  Brundusium,  thanked 
them  for  their  faithful  services,  and  dismissed  them  to  their  respec- 
tive homes  till  it  was  time  for  them  to  attend  his  triumph,  lie  then 
set  out  for  Rome,  accompanied  only  by  a few  friends.  Outside  the 
walls  he  halted,  and  asked  permission  from  the  senate  to  enter  the 
city  without  forfeiting  his  claim  to  a triumph.  But  what  had  been 
excused  in  Sylla  after  the  act  was  not  to  be  allowed  by  anticipation 
to  Pompey.  Cato  strenuously  opposed  the  application,  and  it  was 
refused.  This  triumph,  the  third  which  he  had  enjoyed,  did  not 
take  place  till  the  end  of  September.  It  lasted  two  days,  and  the 
sum  of  money  paid  into  the  treasury  exceeded  all  former  experience. 
After  the  triumph  he  addressed  set  speeches  both  to  the  senate  and  to 
the  people,  but  with  so  much  coldness  and  caution  that  no  one  could 
form  any  conclusion  with  respect  to  his  present  sentiments  or  inten- 
tions ; in  particular  he  studiously  avoided  expressing  any  clear  opinion 
with  respect  to  the  late  troubles,  and  the  active  part  taken  bj'  Cicero 
and  the  senate  against  the  Catilinarian  conspirators.  Crassus,  always 
jealous  of  Pompey,  took  advantage  of  his  rival’s  cautious  reserve  to 
rLse  in  the  senate,  and  pronounce  a panegyric  upon  Cicero  ; and  this 


IS 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


gave  tlie  orator  an  opportunity  of  delivering  the  elaborate  speech 
which  he  had  prepared  for  the  calends  of  January.  Cicero  sat  down 
amid  cheers  from  all  sides  of  the  house.  It  was  probably  the  hap- 
piest moment  of  ids  life.* 

The  consuls-eiect  were  L.  Afranius,  an  old  and  attached  officer  of 
Pompey,  and  Q.  Metellus  Celer,  elder  brother  of  Xepos.f  The  chief 
officers  of  state,  therefore,  seemed  likely  to  he  at  the  beck  of  the 
great  general.  But  Afranius  proved  to  be  a cipher  on  the  political 
stage,  and  Metellus  Celer,  exasperated  because  Pompey  had  just  di- 
vorced his  sister,  sided  warmly  with  the  senate.  Caesar  was  in  Far- 
ther Spain  ; Crassus,  stimulated  (as  we  have  said)  by  ancient  jeal- 
ousy, had  shown  a disposition  to  oppose  Pompey  ; and  the  game,  if 
prudently  played,  might  have  been  won  by  the  senatorial  leaders. 
But  about  this  time  they  lost  Catulus,  their  most  respected  and  most 
prudent  chief  ; and  the  blind  obstinacy  of  Metellus  Celer,  Cato,  and 
others,  converted  Pompey  from  his  cold  neutralit}'  into  a warm  an- 
tagonist. 

During  his  slay  in  the  East  after  the  death  of  ^Mithridates,  he  had 
formed  provinces  and  re-distributed  kingdoms  bj’  his  own  judgment, 
unassisted  by  the  senatorial  commission,  which  usually  advised  a 
proconsul  in  such  matters.  lie  now  applied  to  have  the  ariange- 
ments  which  he  had  made  confirmed  bj'  authority  of  the  senate. 
But  Luculhis  and  Metellus  Creticus,  though  the}"  had  been  allowed 
the  honors  of  a triumph,  were  not  unjustly  irritated  at  seeing  that  in 
the  blaze  of  his  triumphant  success  their  own  unciueSticmable  merits 
had  been  utterly  over-past  and  forgotten.  They  spoke  warmly  in 
the  senate  of  the  unfair  appropriation  of  their  labors  by  Pompey, 
and  persuaded  the  jealous  majority  to  withhold  the  desired  confir 
mation. 

At  the  same  time  a tribune  named  L.  Flavius  proposed  an  agrarian 
law  by  which  it  was  proposed  to  assign  certain  lands  in  guerdon  to 
Pompey’s  veteran  soldiers.  It  seems  that  b}"  the  original  terms  of 
this  bill  certain  of  Sylla’s  assignments  were  cancelled,  and  thus  arose 
a geneial  sense  of  insecurit}"  in  such  property,  till  Cicero  came  for 
valid  and  proposed  the  removal  of  all  these  objectionable  clauses. 
But  even  in  this  amended  form  the  law,  like  all  agrarian  laws,  was 
hateful  to  the  senate.  The  consul  Jletellus  Celer  opposed  it  with 
rancorous  determination  ; and  Pompej',  who  disliked  popular  tu- 
niilts,  suffered  the  measure  to  be  withdr-"' wn,  and  brooded  over  the  in- 
sult in  haughty  silence.  Cicero  made  advances  to  the  great  man, 
and  received  scraps  of  praise  and  flattery,  which  pleased  him  and  dc- 
■‘ived  him,  while  it  increased  the  coldness  which  had  already  sprung 


■ For  a lively  description  of  the  whole  scene,  see  Cicero's  letter  to  Attieus,  i.  lA 
t It  was  from  tiiis  year  that  Pollio  began  his  history  ol  this  civil  war  : 

"Motnm  ex  Metetlo  Consule  emeurn, 

Bellique  causas,”  etc. — Horat.  tid.  ii.  1. 


MFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


19 


up  between  him  and  the  senatorial  chiefs.  But  Pompey  well  knew 
the  political  impotence  of  the  great  orator,  and  it  was  to  a very 
different  quarter  that  he  cast  his  eyes  to  gain  support  against  the 
senate. 

Caesar  (as  we  have  said)  had  taken  his  departure  for  Spain  before 
Pompey’s  return.  In  that  province  he  had  availed  himself  of  some 
disturbances  on  the  Lusitanian  border  to  declare  war  against  that 
gallant  people.  He  overran  their  country  with  constant  success,  and 
then  turned  his  arms  against  the  Gallsecians,  who  seem  to  have  been 
unmolested  since  the  days  of  Dec.  Brutus.  In  two  campaigns  he 
became  master  of  spoils  sufficient  not  only  to  pay  off  a great  portion 
of  his  debts,  but  also  to  enrich  his  soldiery.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  he  must  have  acted  with  great  severity  to  wring  these  large 
sums  from  the  native  Spaniards.  He  never,  indeed,  took  any 
thought  for  the  sufferings  of  the  people  not  subject  to  Roman  rule. 
But  he  was  careful  not  to  be  guilty  of  oppression  toward  the  provin- 
cials : his  rule  in  the  Spanish  provinces  was  long  remarked  for  its 
equitable  adjustment  of  debts  and  taxes  due  to  the  Roman  publicani 
and  money-lenders. 

He  left  Spain  in  time  to  reach  Rome  before  the  consular  elec- 
tions of  the  year  60  b.c.  ; for  he  intended  to  present  himself  as  a 
candidate.  But  he  also  claimed  a triumph,  aud  till  this  was  over  he 
could  not  begin  his  canvass.  He  therefore  applied  to  the  senate  for 
leave  to  sue  for  the  consulship  without  presenting  himself  personally 
in  the  city.  The  senate  probably  repented  of  their  stiffness  in  re- 
fusing Pompey’s  demand  a year  before,  and  were  disposed  to  make 
a merit  of  granting  Cmsar’s  request.  But  Cato,  who  never  would 
give  way  to  a plea  of  expediency  except  in  favor  of  his  own  party, 
adjourned  the  decision  of  the  question  by  speaking  against  time  ; 
and  Caesar,  who  scorned  the  appearance  in  comparison  with  the  re- 
ality of  power,  relinquished  his  triumph  and  entered  the  city.  He 
found  Pompey,  as  he  expected  to  find  him,  in  high  dudgeon  with 
the  senate  ; for  secret  negotiations  had  already  been  opened  between 
them.  To  strengthen  their  hands  still  further,  Caesar  proposed  to  in- 
clude Crassus  in  their  treat3^  This  rich  and  unpopular  nobleman 
had,  as  we  have  seen,  made  advances  to  Cicero  and  to  the  senate  ; 
but  these  advances  had  been  ill  received,  and  he  lent  a read3^  ear  to 
tlie  overtures  of  the  dexterous  negotiator  who  now  addressed  him. 
Pompey  also,  at  the  instance  of  Caesar,  relinquished  the  old  enmity 
which  he  bore  to  Crassus  ; and  thus  was  formed  that  famous  cabal 
which  is  commonly,  though  improperly,  called  the  First  Triumvi- 
rate.* It  was  at  present  kept  studiously  secret,  and  Cicero  for  some 
time  after  counted  upon  Pompey  for  neutralizing  the  ambitious  de 
signs  of  Caesar,  whose  expected  return  filled  him  with  apprehension. 


* Improperly,  because  it  was  a secret  combination,  and  not  an  open  assumption 
of  political  power,  such  as  to  Roman  ears  was  implied  in  the  word  triumvirate. 


20 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C.ESAR. 


Thus  supported  secretly  by  the  iufluence  of  Pompey,  by  the  wealth 
of  Crassus,  and  by  his  own  popularitj-,  Caesar  was  elected  to  the  con- 
sulship by  acclamation.  He  had  formed  a coalition  with  L.  Lucceius, 
a man  of  letters,  who  had  taken  an  active  part  against  Catiline,  and 
v.’ho  was  expected  to  write  a memoir  of  Cicero's  consulship.  But 
the  senatorial  chiefs  exhausted  every  art  of  intrigue  and  bribery  to 
secure  the  return  of  M.  Calpurnius  Bibulus,  who  had  been  the  col- 
league of  Caesar  in  his  previous  offices,  and  was  known  to  be  a man  of 
.inflinching  resolution.  He  was  son-in-law  to  Cato,  who  to  obtain  a 
political  advantage  did  not  hesitate  to  sanction  ti  e bribery  and  cor- 
rupt practices  which  on  other  occasions  he  loudly  denounced. 
Bibulus  was  elected  ; and  from  the  resolute  antagonism  of  the  two 
consuls,  the  approaching  year  seemed  big  with  danger. 

Ctesar  began  the  acts  of  his  consulship  by  a measure  so  adroitly 
drawn  up  as  to  gratify  at  once  his  own  adherents  and  Pompey  and 
Cicero.  It  was  an  agrarian  law,  framed  ver^'  carefully  on  the 
model  of  that  wliich  had  been  proposed  last  year  l)j' Pompey’s  agents 
and  amended  by  the  orator.  Before  bringing  it  forward  in  the  pop- 
ular assembly,  he  read  it  over  clause  bj-  clause  in  the  senate,  and  not 
even  Cato  was  able  to  find  fault.  But  Bibulus  declared  that  the 
measure,  however  cautiously  framed,  was  revolutionar}’,  and  should 
not  pass  while  he  was  consul.  He  therefore  refused  to  sanction  any 
further  meetings  of  the  senate.  Caisar,  unable  to  convene  the  great 
council  without  the  consent  of  his  colleague,  now  threw  himself 
upon  the  people,  and  enlarged  his  agrarian  bill  to  the  dimension  of 
the  laws  formerly  proposed  by  Cinna  and  by  Rullus.  Cicero  now 
took  alarm,  and  the  senatorial  order  united  in  opposition  to  an}’  dis- 
tribution of  their  favorile  Campanian  lands.  On  the  day  a|ipointed 
for  taking  the  votes  of  the  people,  the  most  violent  of  the  oligarchy 
met  at  the  house  of  Bibulus.  Hence  they  sallied  out  into  the  forum 
and  attempted  to  dissolve  the  assembly  by  force.  But  Ca>sar  ordered 
his  lictors  to  arrest  Cato  ; Lucullus  was  only  saved  from  violence 
by  the  consul  himself,  and  the  other  leaders  were  obliged  to  seek 
safety  in  flight.  After  this  vain  effort,  in  which  the  senators  set  an 
(;xample  of  violence,  Bibulus  attempted  to  stop  proceedings  by  send- 
ing word  that  he  was  engaged  in  consulting  the  heavens  to  deter- 
mine whether  the  assembly  could  be  legally  Iwld  ; and  that,  till  his 
divinations  were  concluded,  no  business  was  to  be  done.  But  Csesar 
set  his  message  at  naught,  and  proceeded  as  if  all  formalities  had 
been  regularly  observed.  Finding  that  arms  and  auguries  were 
equally  powerless,  Bibulus  shut  himself  up  in  his  house  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  term  of  offiee,  and  contented  himself  with  protesting 
from  time  to  time  against  the  acts  of  his  colleague.  After  this  vic- 
tory, Csesar  called  upon  Ponrpey  and  Crassus  before  the  whole  assem- 
bly to  express  their  opinions  with  respect  to  the  bill.  Pompey 
warmly  approved  it,  and  declared  that  if  others  drew  swords  to  op- 
po«j  it  he  would  cover  it  with  his  shield.  Crass'v  sooke  in  a gjntilar 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAB. 


21 


itrain.  After  this  public  manifestation  of  the  union  of  the  triumvirs 
all  opposition  ceased.  The  bill  became  law,  and  Caesar  forced  every 
senator  to  swear  obedience  to  its  provisions.  Cato  and  some  others 
made  a struggle,  but  finall}^  complied.  Cicero  looked  on  in  blank 
perplexity. 

Caesar  immediately  followed  up  this  successful  movement  by  pro- 
curing from  the  people  a full  ackno^^’ledgmeut  of  Pompey’s  acts  in 
the  East.  Here  again  the  senate  saw  what  they  had  captiously  re 
fused  employed  as  a means  for  cementing  the  union  of  the  triumvirs 
against  them.  It  was  also  a great  annoyance  that  the  department  of 
foreign  affairs,  which  they  regarded  as  absolutely  their  own,  should 
thus  unceremoniously  be  invaded  by  the  assembly  of  the  people. 

The  next  step  taken  by  the  dexterous  consul  was  to  establish  his 
credit  with  another  class  in  the  community,  the  Equites,  who  also 
(it  may  be  observed)  were  especially  favored  both  by  Pompey  anri 
Cicero.  The  orator,  during  his  consulshii),  had  prided  himself  on 
effecting  a union  between  the  senatorial  and  equestrian  orders.  The 
tax-collectors  (it  seems)  had  made  a high  offer  for  the  taxes  of  Asia 
at  the  last  auction,  and  they  prayed  to  be  let  off  their  contract. 
Cicero  undertook  their  cause,  and  at  the  time  when  he  relinquished 
office  had  good  hopes  of  success.  But  Cato,  always  jealous  of  indul- 
gent measures,  opposed  it  with  his  utmost  force,  and  the  Equites 
were  held  strictly  to  their  bargain.  At  Caesar’s  suggestion,  a law 
was  passed  remitting  a third  part  of  what  they  had  agreed  to  give. 
The  refusal  of  the  senate  appears  to  have  been  somewhat  harsh  ; and 
the  favor  which  they  might  have  achieved  with  little  loss  was  trans- 
ferred to  their  most  dangerous  enemy. 

Other  popular  laws,  mostly  beneficial  in  their  tendency,  were 
passed  at  the  instance  of  Ctesar,  among  which  may  be  noted  one 
which  at  an  earlier  stage  might  have  done  much  toward  establishing 
the  authority  of  the  senate,  by  forcing  it  into  harmony  with  public 
opinion.  By  the  law  in  question  it  was  provided  that  the  acts  and 
proceedings  of  the  senate  should  be  regularly  published. 

Before  he  quitted  office,  Caesar  determined  to  provide  for  his  future 
power.  The  senate  had  assigned  him  the  insignificant  province  of 
managing  the  forests  and  public  pastures  of  Italy.  But  the  tribune 
Vatinius,  his  creature,  proposed  a law  by  which  the  selection  of  con- 
sular provinces  by  the  senate  was  suspended,  and  a special  provi- 
sion made  for  Ctesar.  By  this  law  he  was  invested,  as  proconsul, 
with  the  government  of  Cisalpine  Gaul  and  Illyricum,  and  the  com- 
mand of  two  legions  ; and  this  government  was  conferred  upon  him 
for  the  extraordinary  term  of  five  years.  Ho  doubt  his  puqrose  in 
obtaining  this  province  was  to  remain  as  near  Rome  as  possible,  and 
by  means  of  the  troops  necessarily  under  his  command  to  assume  a 
commanding  position  with  regard  to  Roman  politics.  Circumstances 
unexpectedly  enlarged  his  sphere  of  action,  and  enabled  him  to  add 
to  his  political  successes  that  which  his  brief  career  in  Spain  hardly 


22 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


justified — the  character  of  a skilful  and  triumphant  general.  For 
some  time  part  there  had  been  threatening  movements  in  Transalpine 
Gaul.  The  Allobrogians,  who  had  been  treated  with  little  consider- 
ation after  the  services  rendered  by  their  envoys  in  the  Catilinarian 
conspiracy,  had  endeavored  to  redress  their  grievances  bj'  arms,  and 
had  been  subdued  bj’’  Pontinus,  one  of  the  praetors  employed  by 
Cicero  in  the  arrest  at  the  Mulvian  Bridge.  The  ^Tlduans  (who  in- 
habited modern  Burgundy),  though  in  alliance  wilh  Rome,  were  sus- 
pected of  having  favored  this  revolt.  On  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  the 
Suevi,  a powerful  German  tribe,  were  threatening  inroads  which  re 
vived  the  memory  of  the  Cimbric  and  Teutonic  times  ; and  the  Hel- 
vetian mountaineers  were  moving  uneasily  within  their  narrow  bor- 
ders. An  able  and  active  commander  w'as  required  to  meet  these 
various  dangers  ; and  the  senate  perhaps  thought  that  by  removing 
Caesar  to  a distant,  perilous,  and  uncertain  w'ar,  they  migljt  expose 
him  to  the  risk  of  failure,  or  at  least  that  absence  might  diminish  the 
prestige  of  his  name.  At  any  rate,  it  was  the  senate  which  added 
the  province  of  Transalpine  Gaul,  with  an  additional  legion,  to  the 
provinces  already  conferred  upon  him  by  popular  vote.  Pompej' 
and  Crassus  warmly  supported  the  decree — a fact  which  might  have 
caused  the  senate  to  repent  of  their  liberality. 

Pompey,  we  have  said,  had  divorced  his  wife  Caecilia  on  his  return 
from  Asia  ; and  Ciesar  took  advantage  of  this  circumstance  to 
cement  his  political  union  with  Pompey  by  offering  to  him  the  hand 
of  .Julia,  his  young  and  beautiful  daughter.  Pompey  accepted  the 
offer,  and  had  no  reason  to  repent  it  as  a husband,  whatever  may  be 
thought  of  its  effect  on  his  public  career.  The  letters  of  Cicero  to 
Atticus,  written  during  this  period,  reveal  in  a very  lively  manner  the 
perplexity  of  the  orator.  He  still  hoped  against  hope  in  Pompey, 
but  in  private  he  does  not  dissemble  his  misgivings.  At  length  affairs 
took  place  which  effectually^  opened  his  eyes.  Early  in  the  day  he 
tries  to  put  a good  face  upon  the  matter  : he  represents  his  union 
with  Pompey  as  being  so  close  that  the  young  men  nicknamed  the 
preat  general  Cnasus  Cicero  ; he  professes  his  unshaken  confidence  in 
his  illustrious  friend  ; he  even  hopes  that  they  may  be  able  to  reform 
Ca;sar.  His  confidence  is  much  shaken  by  Pompey 's  approbation  of 
Caesar’s  agrarian  law  ; and  he  begins  to  fear  that  the  great  Eastern 
conqueror — Sampsiceranus,  Alabarches,  the  Jerusalemite  (such  are 
the  names  which  he  uses  to  indicate  the  haughty  reserve  of  Pom- 
pey)— is  aiming  at  a tyranny  ; then  agaiuhe  relents,  affects  to  believe 
that  young  Curio,  an  ardent  supporter  of  the  senate,  is  more  popular 
than  CtEsar,  and  regrets  Pompey’s  isolation.  Still  he  believes  in  his 
unaltered  attachment,  and  continues  to  hope  that  he  will  ultimately 
declare  himself  for  the  senate,  till  at  length  he  is  roused  from  his 
waking  dream  by  the  marriage  of  the  great  man  with  Julia,  and  by 
the  approach  of  personal  danger  to  himself. 

During  Caesar's  praetorshrp,  he  had  lent  the  house  which  belonged 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


23 


to  him  as  chief  pontiff  for  the  celebration  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Bona 
Doa — rites  at  which  it  was  not  lawful  for  any  but  women  to  be  pres- 
ent. Young  App.  Clodius  either  had  or  aspired  to  have  an  intrigue 
with  Pompeia,  Caesar’s  third  wife,  and  contrived  to  enter  the  forbid- 
den precincts  disguised  as  a singing  girl.  He  was  discovered  by  hi» 
voice  ; and  the  matter  was  considered  important  enough  to  be  inves- 
tigated by  the  senate.  But  nothing  was  done  till  the  next  year,  when 
Clodius  was  quajstor.  He  was  then  brought  to  trial,  and  pleaded  an 
alibi.  Caesar  and  Cicero  were  summoned  as  witnesses  against  him. 
Caesar  had  divorced  his  wife  in  consequence  of  the  affair,  but  pro- 
fessed ignorance  of  all  that  had  passed.  “ Why,  then,”  it  was 
asked,  “ have  you  put  away  your  wife?” — a question  to  which  he 
gave  the  famous  reply,  “ Caesar's  wife  must  be  above  suspicion.” 
Cicero,  on  the  other  hand,  who  justly  detested  the  profligate  charac- 
ter of  Clodius,  declared  that  he  had  seen  and  spoken  with  Clodius  on 
that  very  day  at  Rome.  He  thus  overthrew  his  plea  of  an  alibi,  and 
followed  up  his  evidence  by  several  pointed  speeches  in  the  senate. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  the  guilt  of  Clodius.  But  the  matter  was 
treated  as  a trial  of  political  strength  ; by  corruption  and  other  arts, 
he  was  acquitted  ; and,  before  Ctesar’s  consulship,  he  had  conceived 
the  desire  of  satisfying  his  vengeance  upon  Cicero  and  the  senate  by 
becoming  tribune  of  the  plebs.  But  his  patrician  pedigree — the  sole 
relic  of  the  old  distinction  between  the  orders — forbade  his  election  to 
this  office.  Csesar,  in  the  first  instance,  attempted  to  gain  the  sup- 

Eort  of  Cicero,  as  he  had  gained  the  support  of  Pompey,  by  promises. 

ut  though  the  orator  received  these  advances  with  some  pleasure,  it 
was  more  in  the  hope  of  converting  the  popular  statesman  to  his  own 
opinion  than  with  any  thought  of  being  converted.  But  Caesar  was 
not  the  man  to  be  led  by  Cicero.  He  soon  saw  that  he  should  not 
prevail  by  fair  means,  and  therefore  endeavored  to  alarm  the  orator 
by  threatening  to  introduce  a law  for  making  Clodius  a plebeian. 
But  Cicero  relied  on  Pompey,  and  felt  no  alarm  for  himself.  After 
the  marriage  of  Pompey  with  Julia,  he  still  stood  aloof,  and  present- 
ly provoked  Caesar  to  fulfil  his  threats.  C.  Antouius,  Cicero’s  col- 
league in  the  consulship,  had  lately  returned  from  his  lilacedonian 
government.  He  had  been  guilty  of  more  than  the  usual  measure  of 
extortion  and  oppression,  and  Clodius  sought  popularity  by  impeach- 
ing him.  Cicero  appeared  as  his  advocate,  and  took  occasion  to  con- 
trast his  own  forgotten  services  in  the  Catilinarian  conspiracy  with 
the  present  condition  of  public  affairs.  An  immediate  report  of  this 
speech  was  conveyed  to  Csesar.  It  was  delivered  at  noon,  and  the 
same  afternoon  Caesar  gave  his  consent  to  the  proposed  law  for  re- 
moving Clodius  from  his  patrician  rank.  Presently  after,  the  reck- 
less young  noble  was  elected  tribune  for  the  ensuing  year — that  is,  for 
58  B.c.  Cicero  was  justly  thrown  into  consternation. 

The  consular  elections  were  equally  disheartening.  Caesar  had  just 
•spoused  Calpurnia,  the  daughter  of  L.  Piso,  who  also  had  been  lately 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


accused  by  the  busy  Clodius.  This  Piso  was  now  chosen  consul, 
Caesar’s  recommendation,  together  with  Au.  Gabinius,  who.  as  tri. 
bune,  had  moved  the  law  for  conferring  the  extraordinary  command 
of  the  Mediterranean  upon  Pompey.  It  was  evident  that  these  con- 
suls, one  the  father-in-law  of  Caesar,  the  other  a mere  creature  of 
Pompey,  would  serve  as  the  tools  of  the  triumviral  cabal. 

In  December  Clodius  entered  upon  office  as  tribune.  Caesar  did 
not  set  out  for  his  province  before  the  end  of  March  in  the  next  j-ear 
(58  B.c.)  During  these  three  months,  he  was  actively  emplo3'cd  in 
removing  from  Rome  the  persons  most  likely  to  thwart  his  policy'. 
Close  to  the  gates  lay  the  legions  which  he.  had  levied  for  service  in 
Gaul  ; so  that,  if  need  were,  military  force  was  at  hand  to  support 
Clodius  in  the  forum. 

Immediately  after  entering  upon  office,  the  tribune  began  his  as- 
saults upon  the  senate,  and  Cicero  was  one  of  the  first  objects  of  his 
attack.  Caesar  was  determined  at  all  risks  to  remov^c  the  orator  from 
Rome  ; but  he  was  willing  to  have  spared  him  the  rude  treatment 
which  he  was  certain  to  experience  from  Clodius.  He  had  therefore 
offered  him  first  one  of  the  commissionerships  for  executing  the 
agrarian  law,  and  then  a lieutenancj'  under  himself  in  Gaul.  But 
Cicero  declined  both  offers,  and  Caesar  left  him  to  the  mercies  of  the 
vindictive  tribune.  Clodius  at  once  gave  notice  of  a bill  enacting 
that  any  magistrate  who  had  put  Roman  citizens  to  death  without  a 
regular  trial  should  be  banished  from  the  sofl  of  Italju  thus  embodj-- 
ing  in  a direct  law  the  principle  which  Caesar  had  sought  to  estab- 
lish by  the  indictment  of  Rabirius.  At  first  Cicero  trusted  to  Pom- 
pey and  his  own  imaginary  popularit}'.  But  the  haste  with  which 
Cicero  had  acted  was  condemned  bj"  Metellus  Xepos,  the  agent  of 
Pompey,  even  before  the  league  with  Caesar  ; and  manj^  who  had  ap- 
plauded Cicero  at  the  time  now  took  part  with  Clodius.  Finding 
also  that  the  reckless  tribune  was  supported  bj'  Caesar  and  his  legions 
in  the  background,  the  frightened  orator  put  on  mourning,  and  can- 
vassed for  acquittal.  The  greater  part  of  the  senators  and  knights, 
if  we  may  believe  Cicero,  followed  his  example,  but  Clodius  per- 
severed, and  the  consuls  ordered  the  mourners  to  resume  their  usual 
apparel.  Notwithstanding  this  significant  hint,  he  applied  to  these 
very  magistrates  for  protection.  Gabinius,  the  friend  of  Pompej', 
rudely  repulsed  his  advances  ; Piso,  the  father-in  law  of  Caesar,  gave 
him  fair  words,  but  no  real  hope.  As  a last  chance,  he  appealed  to 
Pompej'  himself,  who  maintained  the  cold  reserve  which  he  had 
affected  ever  since  hi.s  return,  and  told  him,  with  what  in  truth  was 
bitter  mockery,  to  seek  assistance  from  the  consuls.  In  this  des- 
perate case  he  held  counsel  with  his  friends.  The  senators  felt  that 
Cicero’s  cause  had  become  their  own,  and  repented  of  the  coldness 
which  they  had  shown  to  their  most  distinguished  partisan,  since  the 
time  that  he  had  served  them  well  in  the  matter  of  Catiline’s  plot. 
Lucullus  shook  off  his  luxurious  indolence  for  a moment,  and  atl- 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


25 


vised  an  appeal  to  arms.  But,  after  full  deliberation,  even  Cato 
recommended  the  orator  to  leave  Italy  before  the  law  passed,  and 
wait  for  better  times.  He  complied  with  a heavy  heart — for  Rome, 
the  forum,  and  the  senate-house,  were  all  the  world  to  him — and  left 
the  capital  before  Csesar’s  departure  for  his  province.  No  sooner 
was  his  back  turned,  than  Sex.  Clodius,  a client  of  the  audacious  tri- 
bune, brought  in  a second  bill,  by  which  Cicero  was  expressly  at- 
tacked by  name.  He  was  forbidden  to  approach  within  four  hundred 
miles  of  Rome  ; all  who  harbored  him  within  those  limits  were  sub- 
jected to  heavy  penalties  ; all  his  property  was  confiscated.  His 
favorite  house  on  the  Palatine,  with  his  villas  at  Tusculum  and  at 
Formiae,  were  to  be  destroyed.  The  great  orator  lingered  ou  the 
southern  shores  of  his  beloved  Italy,  at  Vibo,  at  Thurii,  at  Tareu- 
tum,  at  Brundusium,  m hopes  that  bis  friends  might  even  yet  baffle 
the  designs  of  Clodius.  But  his  hopes  faded  and  vanished.  In  his 
letters  he  pours  forth  unmanly  lamentations  ; accuses  all — Cato, 
Hortensius,  even  his  friend  Atticus  ; refuses  to  see  his  brother  Quin- 
tus ; and  seriously  debates  the  question  of  suicide.  Atticus  began  to 
be  alarmed  for  his  friend’s  sanity.  At  length  he  crossed  the  sea,  and 
sought  refuge  at  Thessalouica,  in  Macedonia ; for  the  province  of 
Greece,  in  which  he  would  fain  have  fixed  his  place  of  exile,  was 
ruled  by  a magistrate  of  the  adverse  party. 

The  next  person  to  be  disposed  of  was  Cato.  This  remarkable 
man  has  already  come  before  us  on  one  or  two  occasions  which  serve 
to  indicate  his  character.  He  was  great-grandson  of  the  old  censor, 
and  resembled  him  in  many  points,  though  he  wanted  much  of  the 
politic  shrewdness  of  his  ancestor.  He  was  five  years  younger  than 
Caesar,  and  at  present  therefore  not  more  than  thirty-seven  years  of 
age.  In  65  b.c.  he  had  served  as  quaestor,  and  had  then  entered  the 
senate.  He  was  tribune  three  years  later  in  company  with  Clodius. 
From  the  time  when  his  speech  determined  the  fate  of  Catiline,  his 
unflinching  and  resolute  character  had  made  him,  notwithstanding 
his  youth,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  senatorial  oligarchy  ; and  after 
the  death  of  Catulus  he  took  far  the  most  determined  part  in  oppos- 
ing the  popular  party.  But  the  Stoic  philosophy  which  he  professed 
almost  unfitted  him  for  the  political  life  of  that  dissolute  and  un- 
scrupulous age.  He  applied  the  rules  of  Zeno’s  inflexible  logic  with 
the  same  unflinching  rigor  to  politics  as  to  mathematics,  without  re- 
gard to  times  or  persons  or  places,  and  treated  questions  of  mere  ex- 
pedience as  if  they  were  matters  of  moral  right  and  wrong.  Cicero 
often  complains  of  his  impracticable  and  pedantic  stiffness,  and  rep- 
resents him  as  applying  the  principles  of  an  Utopian  philosoph}"  to  a 
state  in  the  last  condition  of  corruption.  At  times,  however,  party 
spirit  overcame  even  Cato’s  scruples,  and  to  gain  a victory  he  forgot 
his  philosophy.  But  no  definite  accusation  could  be  brought  against 
him  as  against  Cicero  ; and  therefore,  to  remove  him  from  Rome,  he 
was  charged  with  a business  of  apparent  hoaor.  Ptolemy,  brother 


26 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


of  the  King  of  Egypt,  was  Prince  of  Cyprus  ; and  when  Clodius  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  pirates  this  prince  contributed  the  paltry  sum  of 
two  talents  toward  his  ransom.  The  tribune,  who  never  forgot  or 
forgave,  brought  in  a law  by  which  Cyprus  was  annexed  to  the 
Koman  Empire  ; and  Cato,  though  he  held  no  curule  office,  was  in- 
vested with  praetorian  rank  for  the  execution  of  this  iniquitous  busi- 
ness. Cato  pretended  not  that  he  was  ignorant  of  the  real  purpose 
of  this  mission.  But  he  declared  himself  ready  to  obey  the  law,  left 
Rome  soon  after  Cicero’s  departure,  and  remained  absent  for  about 
two  years.  When,  therefore,  Carsar  left  Rome  in  the  spring  of  the 
year  58  b.c.  to  assume  the  government  of  Gaul,  the  senate  was  left 
m a state  of  paralysis  from  the  want  of  able  and  resolute  leaders. 

After  Ca2sar’s  departure,  Clodius  pursued  lus  denrocratic  measures 
without  let  01  hindrance.  He  abolished  the  law  of  the  comitial  aus- 
pices by  which  Bibulus  had  attempted  to  thwart  Caesar  in  the  former 
year.  He  distributed  the  freedmen  and  city  rabble  throughout  all 
the  tribes.  He  restored  the  trade-unions  and  companies,  which  had 
been  abolished  by  the  senate  nine  j'ears  before.  He  deprived  the 
censors  of  the  power  of  removing  senators  or  degrading  citizens,  un- 
less each  person  so  dishonored  had  previously  been  found  guiltj'  by 
a verdict  of  the  law  courts,  and  unless  both  censors  concurred  in 
every  sentence.  He  gave  such  an  extension  to  the  unwise  corn  laws 
of  C.  Gracchus  and  Saturuinus,  that  gmin,  instead  of  being  sold  at  a 
low  rate,  was  distributed  without  price  to  all  citizens  of  Rome. 
8onie  of  these  laws  were  probably  based  upon  suggestions  of  Caesar's. 
But  even  those  of  which  he  may  have  approved  generally  were  passed 
in  a form  and  in  a manner  of  which  he  could  not  approve  ; and  of 
some  he  is  known  utterly  to  have  disapproved.  But  for  the  time 
Clodius  and  his  gang  were  masters  of  Rome.  Caesar  was  in  Gaul 
Neither  Pompey  nor  Crassus  stiiTcdhand  nor  foot  to  interfere. 


CHAPTER  m. 

C.B6AR  IN  GAUL — BREACH  BETWEEN  POMPEY  AND  C^SAR.  (58-50  B.C.,) 

It  was  but  a few  days  after  Cicero  had  left  Rome  that  Caesar  re- 
ceived news  from  Gaul  wdiich  compelled  his  precipitate  departure. 
The  Helvetians  in  great  numbers  were  advancing  upon  Geneva,  with 
the  purpose  of  cros.sing  the  Rhone  near  that  town,  the  extreme  out- 
post of  the  province  of  Transalpine  Gaul,  and  forcing  their  way 
through  that  province  to  seek  new  settlements  in  the  West.  In  eight 
days,  the  active  proconsul  travelled  from  the  gates  of  Rome  to 
Geneva.  Arrived  there,  he  lined  the  river  with  fortifleations  such  as 
compelled  the  Helvetians  to  doss  into  Gaul  by  a longer  and  more  diffl- 


uyii  OF  )trLztrs  c^esak. 


37 


cult  route  over  tlio  Jura  ; lie  then  followed  them  across  the  Arar 
(Saont)  and  after  a murderous  battle  near  Bibracte  (Autuii  in  Bur- 
gundy), compelled  the  remnant  to  return  to  their  own  country. 

Immed'ately  after  clearing  the  frontiers  of  the  province  of  these  in- 
vaders, he  accepted  the  invitation  of  the  .^Eduans  and  other  Gauls 
dwelling  westward  of  the  Saoue  to  e.Kpel  from  their  borders  a formid- 
able Qci'inan  tribe,  which  had  passed  the  Rhine  and  were  threatening 
to  overrun  all  Northern  Gaul.  These  Suevi,  who  have  left  their 
name  and  a remnant  of  their  race  in  modern  Suabia,  were  led  by  a 
great  chief  named  Aiiovistus.  Ariovistus  at  first  proposed  to  divide 
Gaul  with  the  Romans  ; but  Caesar  promptly  rejected  all  such  over- 
tures, and  war  followed.  So  alarmed  were  the  Roman  legionaries  at 
the  prospect  of  a contest  with  the  Germans,  huge  in  frame  and  mul- 
titudinous in  number,  that  it  required  all  Caesar’s  adroitness  to  restore 
their  confidence.  “ If,”  he  said,  ” all  deserted  him,  he  would  htm- 
self  brave  ever}^  hazard,  and  face  the  foe  with  the  tenth  legion  alone.  ” 
This  had  the  desired  effect.  A desperate  battle  was  fought  about 
five  miles  from  the  Rhine,  somewhere  north  of  Bale,  in  which  the 
Germans  were  utterly  defeated  ; and  Ariovistus  himself  only  escaped 
in  a boat  across  the  great  river  which  was  long  destined  to  remain  as 
the  boundary  between  the  Celtic  and  Teutonic  races. 

Thus  in  one  campaign,  not  only  the  Roman  irroviuce,  but  all  Gaul, 
was  delivered  from  the  presence  of  those  German  invaders  whose 
congeners  in  the  time  of  Marius  had  overrun  the  whole  country,  and 
whose  descendants  at  a later  period  gave  to  the  conquered  larid  its 
new  name  of  France. 

Caesar’s  troops  wintered  in  the  heart  of  the  country  which  he  had 
just  set  free  from  the  Suevian  invaders.  This  position  at  once  roused 
the  jealousy  of  the  Belgic  tribes  to  the  north  of  the  Seine,  and  a pow- 
erful confederacy  was  formed  to  bar  any  designs  which  might  be  en- 
tertained by  Caesar  for  extending  the  dominion  of  Rome  beyond  its 
present  limits.  Caesar,  informed  of  their  proceedings,  did  not  wait  to  be 
al  tacked.  He  raised  two  new  legions  without  expecting  the  authority 
if  tlieseuate,  and  early  in  the  next  year(57  B.c.)enteredtheBelgicter- 
I itory,  which  was  then  bounded  southward  by  the  Seine  and  Marne. 
Here  he  occupied  a strong  position  on  the  Aisne,  and  baffled  all  the 
ellorls  of  the  confederates  to  dislodge  him  or  draw  him  out  to  battle. 
Wearied  out,  they  dispersed,  each  to  their  own  homes  ; and  Cffisar 
advanced  rapidly  into  the  country  of  the  Nervians,  the  most  formid- 
able people  of  the  Belgic  League,  who  then  occupied  the  district  be- 
tween the  Sambre  and  the  Scheld.  As  he  was  forming  his  camp 
upon  the  right  bank  of  the  first-named  river,  he  was  surprised  by  the 
watchful  enemy,  and  his  whole  army  was  nearly  cut  off.  He  re- 
trieved the  disaster  only  at  the  most  imminent  peril  to  himself  and 
had  to  do  the  duty  both  of  a common  soldier  and  a general.  ’ But 
wheu  the  first  confusion  was  over,  the  Roman  discipline  prevailed  • 
and  the  brave  barbarians  were  repulsed  with  prodigious  slaughter’ 


28 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  CiESAK. 


After  this  desperate  battle,  he  received  the  submission  of  the  whole 
country  south  of  the  Lower  Ehine. 

In  the  following  year  (56  b.c.),  he  built  a fleet,  and  quickly  reduced 
the  amphibious  people  of  Bretagne,  who  had  defied  his  power  and 
insulted  his  officers.  He  then  attempted,  but  without  success,  to 
occupy  a post  at  or  near  Martigny,  in  the  Valais,  for  the  purpose  of 
commanding  the  Pass  of  the  Pennine  Alp  (Great  St.  Bernard),  re- 
ceived the  submission  of  the  Aquitanians  in  the  extreme  south 
through  his  young  lieutenant  P.  Crassus,  son  of  the  triumvir,  and 
himself  chastised  the  wild  tribes  who  occupied  the  coast-lands  which 
now  form  Picardy,  Artois,  and  French  Flanders — the  31enapii  and 
the  Morini,  “ remotest  of  mankind.”  Thus  in  three  marvellous  cam- 
paigns, he  seemed  to  have  conquered  the  whole  of  Gaul,  from  the 
Rhine  and  Mount  Jura  to  the  Western  Ocean.  The  brilliancy  and 
rapidity  of  his  successes  silenced  all  questionings  at  Rome.  Xo  at- 
tempt was  made  to  call  him  to  account  for  levj’ing  armies  bej'ond 
what  had  been  allotted  to  him  by  law.  Thanksgivings  of  fifteen 
days — an  unprecedented  length  of  time — were  decreed  by  the  senate. 

The  winter  months  of  each  year  were  passed  by  the  proconsul  on 
the  Italian  side  of  the  Alps.  After  travelling  through  his  Cisalpine 
province  to  hold  assizes,  inspect  public  works,  raise  money  for  his 
wars,  and  recruit  his  troops,  he  fixed  his  headquarters  at  Luca 
(Lucca) — a town  on  the  very  frontier  of  Roman  Italj',  within  two 
hundred  miles  of  Rome  itself.  Here  he  could  hold  easy  communica- 
tion with  his  partisans  at  home.  Luca  during  his  residence  was  more 
like  a regal  court  than  the  quarters  of  a Roman  proconsul.  At  one 
time  two  hundred  senators  were  counted  among  his  visitors  ; one 
hundred  and  twenty  lictors  indicated  the  presence  of  the  numerous 
magistrates  who  attended  his  levees.  This  was  in  the  spring  of  50 
B.C.,  when  both  Pompey  and  Crassus  came  to  hold  conference  with 
him.  To  explain  the  object  of  this  visit,  we  must  know  what  had 
been  passing  at  Rome  since  his  departure  two  years  before. 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  Clodius,  supported  by  the  consuls  Piso 
and  Gabinius,  remained  absolute  at  Rome  during  the  year  58  b.c. 
But  the  insolence  and  audacity  of  the  patrician  tribune  after  the  de- 
parture of  Ca'sar  at  length  gave  offence  to  Pompe}’.  Clodius  had  ob- 
tained possession  of  the  person  of  a son  of  Tigranes,  whom  the  great 
conqueror  had  brought  with  him  from  the  East  : and  in  order  to  raise 
money  for  some  of  his  political  projects,  the  tribune  accepted  a large 
ransom  for  the  young  prince.  The  prafior  L.  Flavius,  a creature  of 
Pompey’s,  endeavored  to  arrest  the  liberated  prisoner  ; but  Clodius  in- 
terfered at  the  head  of  an  armed  force,  and  in  the  struggle  which  ensued 
several  of  Pompej  ’s  adherents  were  slain.  The  great  man  was  irrev- 
ocably offended,  and  determined  to  punish  the  tribune  by  promoting 
Uie  recall  of  Ui<;ero,  his  chief  enemy.  Ever  since  the  departure  of  the 
orator,  his  friends  had  been  using  ali  exertions  to  compass  this  end. 
His  brother  Quintus,  who  had  latelj'  returned  from  a three  years 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


29 


government  in  Asia,  and  was  about  to  join  Caesar  as  one  of  his  legates, 
his  friend  Atticus,  who  on  this  occasion  forsook  his  usual  epicurean 
ease,  his  old  but  generous  rival  Hortensius — all  joined  with  his  wife 
Terentia,  a woman  of  masculine  spirit,  to  watch  every  opportunity 
for  promoting  his  interests.  The  province  of  Macedonia  had  been 
assigned  by  a law  of  Clodius  to  Piso  ; and  Cicero,  partly  through  fear 
of  the  new  proconsul,  partly  through  desire  of  approaching  Italy, 
ventured  before  the  end  of  the  j'ear  to  Dyrrhachium,  though  it  was 
within  the  prescribed  four  hundred  miles.  But  Pompey’s  quarrel 
with  Clodius  had  already  been  announced  by  the  election  to  the  con- 
sulate of  P.  Lentulus  Spinther,  a known  friend  of  Cicero,  and 
Metellus  Nepos,  a creature  of  Pompey. 

An  attempt  had  been  already  made  in  the  senate  to  cancel  the  law 
by  which  Cicero  had  heen  banished,  on  the  ground  of  its  having  been 
carried  without  regard  to  constitutional  forms.  But  this  attempt 
was  stopped  at  once  by  tribuniciau  veto,  and  the  impatient  orator 
was  obliged  to  wait  for  the  new  year.  The  new  consuls,  on  entering 
ofHce  (58  B.C.),  immediately  moved  for  the  orator’s  recall  ; and  it 
was  proposed  by  L.  Cotta  that  the  law  by  which  he  was  banished, 
being  informal,  should  be  set  aside  by  the  authority  of  the  senate. 
But  Pompey,  both  for  the  sake  of  peace,  and  also  that  Cicero  might 
be  restored  with  all  honor  and  publicity,  urged  that  a law  should  be 
brought  in  for  the  purpose.  It  was  not,  however,  easy  to  carry 
such  a law.  Clodius,  though  no  longer  tribune,  had  adherents  in  the 
new  college,  who  resolutely  interposed  their  veto.  The  motion  was 
dropped  for  the  moment,  but  was  presently  renewed  ; and  Clodius 
entered  the  forum  at  the  head  of  a large  retinue  fully  armed  and 
prepared  for  anj^  violence.  A regular  battle  followed,  which  left 
Clodius  master  of  the  field.  For  some  days  Rome  was  at  his  mercy. 
With  his  own  hand  he  tired  the  Temple  of  the  Nymphs  and  destroyed 
the  censorial  registers.  He  attacked  his  enemies’  houses,  and  many 
persons  were  slain  in  these  riotous  assaults.  No  public  attempt  was 
made  to  stop  him.  The  consuls  were  powerless.  Of  Pompey  and 
Crassus  we  hear  not.  But  a young  nobleman,  named  T.  Auiiius 
Milo,  bold  and  reckless  as  Clodius  himself,  raised  a body  of  gladi- 
ators at  his  own  charge,  and  succeeded  in  checking  the  lawless  vio- 
lence of  the  tribune  by  the  use  of  violence  no  less  lawless.  The  bill 
for  Cicero’s  recall  was  now  for  the  third  time  brought  forward  ; and 
after  long  delays,  caused  by  fresh  interference  of  the  Clodian  tri- 
bunes, it  was  passed  in  the  month  of  August. 

Meantime  the  impatient  orator  had  been  writing  letters  from  Thes- 
salonica  and  Dyrrhachium,  in  which  he  continued  to  accuse  his 
friends  of  coldness  and  insinceritj^.  But  when  the  law  was  passed, 
all  the  clouds  vanished.  Early  in  September,  about  a year  and  four 
months  after  his  departure,  he  approached  the  city,  and  crowds  at- 
tended him  along  the  whole  length  of  the  Appian  Way.  From  the 
Porta  Capena  to  the  Capitol,  all  the  steps  of  the  temples  and  every 


30 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  CAESAR. 


pla«e  of  vantage  were  thronged  by  multitudes,  who  testified  theii- 
satisfaction  by  loud  applause.  For  the  moment,  the  popularity 
which  had  followed  his  consulship  returned,  and  in  honest  pride  he 
ascended  to  the  Capitoline  Temple  to  return  thanks  to  the  gods  for 
turning  the  hearts  of  the  people. 

At  this  time  there  was  a great  scarcity  of  corn  at  Rome.  This 
might  in  part  be  occasioned  by  the  disturbed  state  of  Egypt,  one  of 
the  chief  granaries  of  Italy.  The  king,  Ptolemy  Auletes,  had  lately 
been  expelled  by  his  subjects,  and  was  now  at  Rome  seeking  aid 
from  the  senate  to  procure  restoration  to  his  throne.  T7hatever  was 
the  cause,  the  people,  accustomed  to  be  fed  by  the  state,  murmured 
loudly.  Prices  had  fallen  after  the  return  of  Cicero,  and  his  friends 
attributed  this  cheapness  to  the  orator’s  recall.  But  before  his  re- 
turn to  Rome,  they  had  again  risen  ; and  Clodius  hastened  to  attribute 
this  untoward  change  to  the  same  cause.  On  the  day  after  his  tri- 
umphant entry,  therefore,  the  orator  appeared  in  the  senate,  and 
after  returning  thanks  for  his  recall,  he  moved  that  an  extraordinary 
commission  should  be  issued  to  Pompe}",  by  which  he  was  to  be  in- 
trusted with  a complete  control  over  the  corn-market  of  the  empire. 
The  consuls  eagerly  closed  with  the  proposal,  and  added  that  the 
commission  should  nm  for  five  years,  with  the  command  of  mone}', 
troops,  fleets,  and  all  things  necessary  for  absolute  authority.  The 
senate  dared  not  oppose  the  hungry  mob  ; and  the  bill  passed, 
though  Pompey  was  obliged  to  relinquish  the  clauses  which  in- 
vested him  with  military  power.  He  proved  unable  to  influence 
prices,  or,  in  other  words,  to  force  nature,  and  the  coveted  appoint 
ment  resulted  in  unpopularity. 

At  the  same  time,  handsome  sums  were  voted  to  Cicero  to  enable 
him  to  rebuild  his  ruined  houses,  and  to  compensate  him  for  the  de- 
struction of  his  property.  Encouraged  both  by  the  favor  of  the 
senate  and  by  his  present  popularity  in  the  forum,  he  proceeded  to 
institute  a prosecution  against  Clodius  for  assuming  the  tribunate 
illegally,  and  for  seditious  conduct  during  his  office.  The  reckless 
demagogue  prepared  to  resist  by  means  of  his  armed  mob.  But  he 
received  support  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  Cato  had  returned 
from  executing  the  hateful  commission  given  him  by  Clodius.  The 
helpless  Prince  of  Cyprus,  despairing  of  resistance,  though  Cato 
was  unattended  by  an  armed  force,  put  an  end  to  his  own  life  , and 
tlie  Roman,  wdth  rigorous  punctualit3%  proceeded  to  sell  all  the  ro3'al 
property  and  reduce  the  island  to  the  condition  of  a Roman  province. 
On  his  return,  he  paid  large  sums  into  the  treasury,  insisted  on  his 
accounts  being  examined  with  minute  scrutin3%  and  took  pride  in 
having  executed  his  commission,  without  regard  either  to  the  justice 
of  its  origin,  or  to  merc3^  in  its  execution.  But  this  commission 
would  become  illegal  were  the  tribunate  of  Clodius  declared  illegal. 
Cato,  therefore,  wdth  the  usual  perversity  of  his  logic,  came  forward 
u a warm  defender  of  Clodiu*  ami  the  acts  of  his  tribunate. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR, 


31 


While  the  question  was  pending,  fresh  passions  were  excited  by 
the  application  of  Ptolem}'  Auletes.  The  king  had  consulted  Cato 
during  his  sojourn  in  the  East,  though  the  Koman  was  at  that  time 
engaged  in  ruining  the  king’s  brother  ; and  Cato  had  vainly  advised 
him  to  procure  restoration  by  any  means  rather  than  by  application 
to  Rome,  whose  assistance  was  only  to  be  bought  by  ruin.  But 
Ptolemj"  neglected  the  well-meant  advice  ; and  when  he  appeared  at 
Rome  to  demand  succor,  every  senator  of  influence  claimed  the 
lucrative  task  of  giving  back  her  king  to  Egypt.  Pompey  sought 
it  ; Crassus  sought  it ; and  the  latter  person  now  appears  for  the  first 
time  as  the  mover  of  a popular  force,  independent  of  his  brother  tri- 
umvirs. But  the  senate  was  too  jealous  of  the  triumvirs  to  increase 
their  power— and  all  the  great  exj)ectants  of  the  Egyptian  commis- 
sion were  disappointed.  It  was  conferred,  as  if  in  the  regular  course 
of  things,  upon  the  late  consul  Leutulus  Spiuther,  who  had  obtained 
the  province  of  Cilicia  ; but  the  tribune  C.  Cato  produced  an  oracle 
from  the  Sibylline  Books  which  forbade  the  use  of  an  army.  Len- 
tulus,  therefore,  obtained  a commission  without  the  power  of  execut- 
ing it,  and  the  question  in  reality  was  left  open  for  future  aspirants. 

In  the  heat  of  this  contest,  Clodius  had  been  elected  tedile,  and 
thus  for  the  nonce  escaped  the  impeachment  which  was  menacing. 
The  armed  conflicts  betw^een  him  and  Milo  continued  ; and  the  con- 
sular election  for  the  year  55  b.c.  threatened  to  become  the  oppor- 
tunity of  serious  bloodshed.  The  consuls  of  the  current  year  (57 
B.C.),  Cn.  Lentulus  Marcellinus  and  L.  Philippus,  w'ere  decidedly  in 
the  interest  of  the  senate  ; and  they  supported  with  their  whole  in- 
fluence L.  Domitius  Ahenobarbus,  brother-in-law'  of  Cato  and  a de- 
termined antagonist  of  the  triumviral  cabal.  This  man  threatened 
that  his  first  act  should  be  to  recall  Caesar  from  his  province.  Pompey 
also  and  Crassus  met  with  little  favor  from  him.  And  thus  common 
danger  again  united  the  three  men  who  had  lately  been  diverging. 
It  was  to  concert  measures  for  thwarting  the  reviving  energy  of  the 
senate,  that  the  ominous  meeting  at  Luca  W’as  proposed  and  took 
e^ect.  What  passed  between  the  three  is  only  known  from  the  results. 

Pompey  and  Crassus  returned  to  Rome  from  their  interview  at 
Luca  fully  pledged  (as  is  evident  from  what  followed)  to  prevent 
the  election  of  Domitius  and  the  recall  of  Caesar.  To  fulfil  both 
these  conditions,  they  came  forward  themselves  as  joint  candidates 
for  a second  consulship.  The  senate,  however,  had  gathered  courage 
of  late.  Milo  held  Clodius  in  check,  and  the  consuls  hindered  the 
election  of  the  powerful  confederates  by  refusing  to  hold  the 
comitia.  The  powers  of  government  were  in  abeyance.  The 
calends  of  January  came,  and  there  were  no  magistrates  to  assume 
the  government.  The  young  Crassus  had  just  arrived  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Rome  with  a strong  body  of  the  Gallic  veterans  from 
Caesar’s  army.  Under  the  fear  of  violence,  the  senatorial  chiefi 
draw  bade,  and  allowed  Pompe\  uti<l  Crassus  to  assume  the  consul- 


32 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


ship,  as  Marius  and  Cinna  had  assumed  it,  without  any  regular 
form  of  election.  Tliey  immediately  held  comitia  for  the  election  of 
the  other  curule  magistracies.  Cato  offered  himself  for  the  praetor- 
ship,  but  was  defeated  by  Yatinius,  a person  chiefly  known  as  a mer- 
cenary instrument  of  Caesar’s  policy. 

Soon  after,  further  fruits  of  the  conference  of  Luca  appeared. 
The  tribune,  C.  Trebonius,  moved  in  the  Assembly  of  Tribes  that 
the  consuls  should  receive  special  provinces  for  the  space  of  five 
years — Syria  being  allotted  to  Crassus,  Spain  to  Pompej".  Whether 
Uie  consuls  intencled  to  bring  forward  a supplementary  faw  to  extend 
Caesar’s  command,  or  whether  they  purposed  to  break  faith  with  their 
absent  confederate,  cannot  be  known.  But  the  Caesarian  party  at 
Rome  exclaimed  so  loudly  against  the  omission  of  their  leader’s  name, 
that  Pompey  himself  added  a clause  to  the  Trebonian  law,  b}’  which 
Caesar’s  government  of  the  Gauls  and  Ill3Tia  was  extended  for  an  ad- 
ditional five  years,  to  date  from  the  expiration  of  the  first  term.* 
During  the  first  daj'  Cato  obstructed  the  law  by  his  old  device  of 
■speaking  against  time.  But  when  a second  day  seemed  likely  to  be 
wasted  in  like  manner,  Trebonius  committed  him  to  prison.  Two 
tribunes  who  threatened  to  interpose  their  veto  were  prevented  from 
attending  the  assembly  by  the  use  of  positive  force. 

Pompey  endeavored  to  outdo  even  Caesar  in  bidding  for  the  favor 
of  the  people  by  magnificent  spectacles.  In  his  name,  his  freedman 
Demetrius  erected  the  first  theatre  of  stone  which  Rome  had  yet 
seen,  and  exhibited  combats  of  wild  beasts  on  a scale  never  before 
witnessed.  Then  for  the  first  time  a combat  between  elephants  was 
witnessed  in  the  arena. 

Cicero  after  his  return  from  exile  had  for  a time  eagerly  engaged 
in  pi’ofessional  pursuits.  To  pass  over  the  speeches  which  he  deliv- 
ered with  respect  to  himself  and  the  restoration  of  his  property'  in 
the  year  57  b.c.,  w'e  find  him  defending,  among  others,  P.  Sestius, 
M.  Cselius,  and  L.  Balbus,  and  the  speeches  he  delivered  as  their  ad- 
vocate are  full  of  interesting  allusions  to  the  state  of  political  affairs. 
In  the  senate  also  he  had  taken  an  active  part  in  the  debat  es.  Before 
the  conference  of  Luca  the  triumviral  cabal  seemed  s-haken,  and 
Pompej^  seemed  to  be  roused  from  his  apathy  by  the  insolence  o'. 
Clodius.  At  that  juncture  the  oiator  ventured  to  move  in  the  senate 
the  repeal  of  Cresar’s  law  for  dividing  the  Campanian  lands,  and  his 
motion  was  warmly  received  by  the  leading  senators.  But  after  the 
conference  a message  w'as  convej^ed  to  him  through  Crassus  which 
convinced  him  at  once  of  the  renewed  union  of  the  triumvirs,  and  of 
the  danger  wdiich  might  again  overtake  him.  He  w'as,  moreover,  be- 
coming di.sgusted  witli  the  senatorial  chiefs.  Lucullus,  after  spend- 


• Veil.  Pat.  ii.  46.  By  the  Vatinian  law.  Ciesar's  command  extended  from  the 
betjiiming  of  58  to  the  end  of  54  b.c.  ; by  tin:  Ti  ehouian.  from  the  beginniiig  of  53 
to'the  eud  of  49. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAK. 


33 


ing  his  latter  days  in  profuse  and  ostentatious  luxury,  was  sinking 
into  a state  of  senile  apathy.  Hortensius,  always  more  of  an  advo- 
cate than  a statesman,  was  devoted  to  his  flsh -ponds  and  his  planta- 
tions. With  Cato  the  gentler  nature  of  Cicero  never  acted  harmoni- 
ously. The  persons  who  were  now  rising  to  be  chiefs  of  the  senate, 
such  as  Domitius  Ahenobarbus,  Milo,  and  others,  were  as  little  loath  to 
use  lawless  force  as  Clodius.  It  had  been  best  for  Cicero  if  he  had 
taken  the  advice  of  his  friend  Atticus  and  retired  altogether  from 
public  life,  at  a time  when  there  seemed  no  place  left  for  him  on  tlie 
field  of  politics.  But  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  give  up  those  ac 
tive  and  stirring  pursuits  which  he  had  followed  from  youth  up 
ward.  He  could  not  bear  to  abandon  the  senate-house  and  forum; 
he  would  not  join  the  violent  members  of  the  senatorial  party  ; he 
dared  not  oppose  tlie  triumvirs.  It  was  impossible  to  satisfy  these 
conflicting  fears  and  wishes  without  quitting  the  ranks  of  the  sena- 
torial oligarchy  and  joining  the  supporters  of  the  triumviral  cabal. 
The  first  step  Cicero  took  with  little  regret;  the  second  no  doubt 
gave  him  much  pain.  Nevertheless  he  took  it.  Soon  after  the  con- 
ference of  Luca  a change  appeared  in  his  politics.  He  spoke  in 
favor  of  the  prolongation  of  Cae.sar’s  command,  and  pronounced  a 
labored  panegjTic  on  Crassus,  whom  he  had  always  disliked.  To 
Caesar  he  had  been  reconciled  by  his  brother  Quintus,  who  was  a 
warm  admirer  of  the  great  proconsul.  The  gallant  son  of  Crassus, 
who  had  returned  Hushed  with  triumph  from  the  Gallic  wars  was 
a devoted  follower  of  Cicero  ; and  perhaps  personal  feeling  for  the 
son  supplied  feelings  an.l  words  which  the  father  could  not  have 
claimed.  It  may  well  be  supposed  that  Cicero  was  disgusted  with 
the  ferocity  of  Milo  and  the  new  senatorial  chiefs.  It  is  even  possi- 
ble that  he  really  believed  the  best  hope  of  moderate  and  regular  gov- 
ernment was  from  the  triumvirs.  At  all  events  his  letters  written  at 
this  time  show  that  he  labored  to  convince  his  friends  and  perhaps 
himself  that  such  was  liis  belief. 

In  some  points,  however,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  Cicero  carried 
his  compliance  beyond  the  limits  even  of  political  nloralitJ^  Since 
the  first  extraordinary  appointment  of  Pompey  to  command  in  the 
Mediterranean,  it  had  become  common  to  confer  provinces  and  com 
mands,  not  according  to  the  provisions  of  the  Sempronian  law,  but 
by  special  votes  of  the  people.  In  this  way  the  profligate  Piso,  Ca;- 
ear’s  father-in-law,  had  received  the  government  of  Macedonia,  and 
Gabinius,  Pompey’s  creature,  that  of  Syria.  These  men  had  used 
their  power  in  a manner  now  too  common  ; Cicero  had  inveighed 
against  them  in  his  most  vehement  manner  soon  after  his  return,  and 
the  effect  of  his  speech  was  such  that  Piso  was  recalled.  Gabinius, 
meantime,  had  taken  a daring  step.  Lentulus  Spinther,  proconsul 
of  Cilicia,  was  (as  has  been  said)  unable  to  execute  his  commission  of 
restoring  Ptolemy  Auletes.  The  king,  therefore,  applied  to  Gabi- 
nius, and  by  offer  of  enormous  srms  prevailed  upon  Wm  to  march  to 


34 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


Alexandria  -wilhout  waiting  for  a commission.  Gabiuius,  by  the  aid 
of  an  armed  force,  bad  no  difficulty  in  reinstating  Ptolemy.  This 
was  during  the  consulship  of  Pompey  and  Crassus.  Being  super- 
seded by  Crassus  in  his  Syrian  government,  Gabiuius  returned  to 
Rome.  He  fcund  the  people  infuriated  against  him  for  daring  to 
lead  an  army  into  Egypt  in  despite  of  the  Sibylline  oracles,  and  he 
was  impeached.  By  the  influence  of  Pompey,  doubtless,  he  was  ac- 
quitted. But  he  was  again  indicted  for  extortion  in  his  province, 
and  Cicero,  at  the  solicitation  of  Pompey,  came  forward  to  defend 
him.  But  this  time  he  was  condemned,  no  doubt  most  jusllj',  and 
sought  safety  in  exile. 

The  triumviral  cabal  now  hastened  to  dissolution.  In  the  year 
54  B.C.,  .Julia,  the  daughter  of  Cse.sar  and  wife  of  Pompey,  died  in 
childbed.  Though  Pompey  was  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  she 
had  been  to  him  a loving  and  faithful  wife.  He  on  his  part  was  so 
devoted  to  his  young  and  beautiful  consort,  that  ancient  authors  at- 
tribute much  of  his  apathy  in  public  matters  to  the  happiness  which 
he  found  in  domestic  life.  This  faithful  attachment  to  .Julia  is  the 
most  amiable  point  in  a character  othen\dse  cold  and  unattractive. 
So  much  was  Julia  beloved  by  all,  that  the  people  voted  her  the  ex- 
traordinary honor  of  a public  funeral  in  the  Campus  Martius.  Her 
death  set  Pompey  free  at  once  from  ties  which  might  long  have 
bound  him  to  Caesar,  and  almost  impelled  him  to  drown  the  sense  of 
his  loss  in  the  busy  whirl  of  public  life. 

Meanwliile  Crassus  had  left  Rome  for  the  East,  and  thus  destroyed 
another  link  in  the  chain  that  had  hitherto  maintained  political  union 
among  the  ti^umvirs.  Early  in  the  year  after  his  consulship  {.af 
U.c.)  he  succeeded  Gabiuius  in  the  government  of  Syria.  His  chief 
object  in  seeking  this  province  was  to  carry  the  Roman  arms  beyond 
the  Euphrates,  and  by"  the  coiicpiest  of  the  Parthians  to  win  fresh  ad- 
ditions to  his  enormous  fortune,  while  a great  military  triumph  might 
serve  to  balance  the  conquests  of  Pompey  in  the  same  regions,  and 
of  Ccesar  in  Gaul.  Toward  the  close  of  the  year  53  b.c.,  about 
twelve  months  after  the  death  of  Julia,  Rome  was  horror-struck  by 
hearing  that  the  wealthy  proconsul  and  his  gallant  son  had  been  cut 
off  by  the  enemy",  and  that  the  greater  part  of  his  army  had  been  dc- 
stroy'ed. 

The  Parthians,  a people  originally  found  in  the  mountainous  dis- 
trict to  the  south-west  of  the  Caspian  Sea,  had,  on  the  death  of  Alex- 
ander, fallen  under  the  nominal  sway  of  Selcucus  and  his  successors 
on  the  Grageo-Syrian  throne.  As  that  dynasty"  fell  into  decay,  the 
Parthians  continually  wa.xcd  bolder  ; till  at  the  time  of  the  great 
Mithridatic  war  we  find  their  king  Pharnaces  claiming  to  be  called 
king  of  kings,  and  exercising  despotic  power  over  the  whole  of  I^er- 
sia  and  the  adjacent  countries  to  the  Eupiirates  westward.  Their 
capital  was  fixed  at  the  Greek  city  of  Seleuceia  on  the  Tigris  ; and 
bera  the  king  maintained  a court  in  which  the  barbaric  splendor  of 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  CAESAR. 


35 


the  East  was  strangely  mingled  with  the  frugal  refinements  intro- 
duced by  the  Greek  settlers  and  adventurers,  who  abounded  in  all 
quarters.  They  possessed  a numerous  eavalry,  clad  in  light  armor, 
used  to  scour  the  broad  plains  of  the  countries  they  overran,  trained 
to  disperse  like  a cloud  before  regular  troops,  but  to  fire  on  the  ad- 
vancing enemy  as  they  fled.  Orodes,  their  present  king,  already 
threatened  with  au  attack  by  Gabinius,  was  not  unprepared  for  the 
war  which  Crassus  lost  no  time  in  beginning. 

In  the  first  j'^ear  of  his  proconsulship,  C’ras.sus  was  too  late  for 
serious  attack ; but  early  in  the  next  spring  (53  b.c.)  he  ad- 
vanced in  strength  from  the  Euphrates,  at  the  head  of  a well- 
appointed  army.  Artabazus,  the  present  king  of  Armenia,  who, 
tlirough  fear  of  the  Parthian  monarch,  was  sincerely  attached 
to  Rome,  wished  the  proconsul  to  take  Armenia  as  a basis  of 
■ iperations,  and  to  descend  the  valley  of  the  Tigris,  so  as  to  avoid 
(he  open  plains,  where  the  Parthian  horsemen,  seconded  by  the  heat 
of  summer,  would  act  against  him  at  terrilile  advantage.  C.  Cassius 
Longinus,  the  most  experienced  offlcer  of  the  proconsul— a man  who 
afterward  became  famous  as  the  chief  author  of  Caesar's  death— took 
the  same  view.  But  Crassus  was  impatient,  and,  neglecting  all  ad- 
vice, marched  straight  across  the  plains.  What  was  foretold  hap- 
pened. The  Parthiaus,  avoiding  a gener.al  battle,  drew  on  the  Ro- 
mans into  the  heart  of  Mesopotamia,  till  the  legionaries,  faint  with 
heat  and  hunger,  could  advance  no  farther.  As  they  began  to  re- 
treat, they  were  enveloped  by  a crowd  of  horsemen,  and  pursued  by 
a great  army  commanded  by  Surenas,  a principal  offlcer  of  Orodes. 
At  Charraj,  the  Haran  where  Abraham  once  dwelt,  he  halted  and 
ottered  battle.  It  was  accepted,  and  the  proconsul  was  defeated. 
Still  he  contrived  to  make  good  his  retreat,  and  was  within  reach  of 
the  mountains  that  skirt  the  western  side  of  the  great  plain  of  Meso- 
potamia when  he  was  induced  to  accept  a conference  offered  by  the 
treaclifirous  Surenas.  At  this  conference  he  was  seized  and  slain,  as 
the  chiefs  of  the  ten  thousand  had  been  dealt  with  three  centuries 
before.  His  head  was  sent  to  Orodes,  who  ordered  molten  gold  to 
be  poured  into  the  mouth.  Young  Publius,  the  friend  of  Caesar  and 
Cicero,  fell  in  the  struggle,  fighting  valiantly  for  his  father.  Cas- 
sius alone  of  the  chief  officers  did  the  duty  of  a general,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  drawing  off  his  division  of  the  army  in  safety  to  the  Ro- 
man frontiers.  For  two  years  he  conliuued  to  defend  the  province 
against  the  Parthian  assaults,  till  in  51  b.c.  a decisive  victory  on  the 
confines  of  Cilicia  and  Syria  checked  their  advances,  and  enabled 
Cassius  to  hand  over  the  latter  province  in  a peaceful  condition  to 
Bibulus. 

Meanwhile  Caesar  in  Gain  was  also  involved  in  unexpected  difficul- 
ties. In  his  three  first  campaigns  (58-56  B.c.)  as  has  been  said,  he 
seemed  to  have  reduced  all  Gaul  to  silent  submission.  In  the  two 
next  years  he  was  engaged  in  expeditions  calculated  rather  to  aston- 


36 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAH. 


ish  aad  dazzle  men’s  minds  at  Rome  than  necessary  to  secure  hi» 
conquests.  Fresh  swarms  of  Germans  had  begun  to  cross  the  Rhine 
near  Col)lenz.*  He  defeated  them  near  that  place  with  slaughter  so 
terrible  that  upward  of  150,000  men  are  said  to  have  been  slain  1)3' 
the  sword  or  to  have  perished  in  the  Rhine.  To  terrify  them  still 
further,  he  threw  a bridge  over  the  broad  river  at  a spot  probably  b»- 
tween  Coblenz  and  Anderuach,  which  was  completed  in  ten  days — a 
miracle  of  engineering  art.  He  then  advanced  into  Germany,  burn- 
ing and  destroying,  and  broke  up  his  bridge  as  he  retired.  Caesar's 
account  of  the  victory  of  Coblenz  was  not  received  with  the  same  ap- 
plause in  the  senate  as  had  welcomed  the  triumphs  of  previous  3 ears. 
It  appeared  that  the  German  chiefs  had  come  into  the  Roman  camp, 
that  Caesar  detained  them  on  the  ground  that  the3'  had  broken  an 
armistice,  and  while  they  were  captives  had  attacked  their  arm}'. 
The  facts  as  narrated  b}'  hiiiiSf  If  bear  an  appearance  of  ill  faith. 
Cato  rose  in  the  senate,  and  pre posed  that  Caesar  should  be  delivered 
up  to  the  Germans,  as  an  offering  in  expiation  of  treacher}’.  But 
sucir  a proposition  came  with  a t ill  grace  even  from  Cato’s  mouth. 
Few  Romans  acknowledged  th.i  duty  of  keeping  faith  with  barba- 
rians ; and  if  Caesar  had  not  beta  the  cnem}'  of  the  senatorial  party, 
probably  nothing  would  have  been  said  of  his  treachery.  But  how- 
ever this  might  be,  it  is  clear  that  the  decree  would  have  been  an 
empty  threat.  Who  could  have  been  found  to  “ bell  the  cat”  ? Who 
would  or  could  have  arrested  Caesar  at  the  head  of  his  legions  ? 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  }'ear  (55  B.c.)  that  he  passed  over 
into  our  own  island,  taking  ship  probabl}'  at  Witsand  near  Calais, 
and  landing  on  the  open  beach  irear  Deal.  In  the  next  year  he  re- 
peated the  invasion  of  Britain  with  a much  larger  force,  marched  up 
the  Stour,  took  Cauterbur}%  crossed  the  Thames  above  Loudon,  prob- 
ably near  Walton,  defeated  Cassivelaunus,  the  gallant  chief  of  the 
Trinobantes,  and  took  their  town,  which  stood  probabl}'  on  'he  site 
of  the  modern  St.  Albans.  Little  result  followed  from  these  ex- 
peditions except  to  spread  the  terror  of  the  Roman  name,  and  to 
afford  matter  of  wonderment  at  Rome.  Cicero’s  curiosity  about 
these  unknown  lands  was  satisfied  by  letters  from  his  brother  Quin- 
tus, and  from  C.  Trebatius  Testa,  a learned  lawyer,  who  attended  Ca;- 
sar  in  a civil  capacity  at  the  recommendation  of  Cicero  himself,  f 

But  it  was  soon  discovered  how  hollow  was  the  pacification  of 
Gaul.  During  the  winter  of  5-1-53  b.c.,  Ctesar  had  spread  his  troops 
in  winter-quarters  over  a wide  area.  Ambiorix,  a crafty  and  able  chief 
of  the  Eburones,  a half- German  tribe  on  either  side  of  the  Meuse,  as- 
saulted the  camp  of  Cotta  and  Sabinus,  and  by  adroit  cunning  con- 
trived to  cut  off  two  legions.  He  then  attacked  Q.  Cicero.  But  this  effi- 


* It  seems  certain  that  this  is  what  Csesar  means  hy  “ad  conflnentem  Mosa  et 
Kheni,”  Bell.  Gall.  iv.  15.  The  Mosa  here  must  be  the  Moselle,  not  the  Meuse — or 
elec  Mos'dae  must  be  restored. 

t Ep'St.  ad  Att.  iv.  16,  13  ; 17,  3 ; ad  (^uintitm  Fralrem,  ii.  16,  4. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  CiESAR, 


87 


Mr,  though  stationed  in  the  hostile  oountty  of  the  Nervii  with  one 
legion  only,  gallantly  defended  his  camp  till  he  was  relieved  by  Csesar 
himself,  who  ha\l  not  yet,  according  to  his  custom,  left  Transal- 
pine Gaul.  Alarmed  by  the  general  insurrection  which  was  threat- 
ened by  these  bold  movements  of  Ambiorix,  Caesar  asked  Pompey  to 
lend  him  a legion  from  his  Spanish  army ; and  his  request  was 
granted  at  once.  The  next  year’s  campaign  quelled  the  attempt  of 
Ambiorix,  and  Csesar  returned  to  Italy  during  the  winter  of  53-52  B.O., 
where  his  presence  was  needed,  as  we  shall  presently  hear.  But  in 
the  years  52  and  51  b.o.  all  central  Gaul  rose  against  the  Romans, 
under  the  able  conduct  of  Vercingetorix,  chief  of  the  Arvemians. 
The  combined  Gauls  for  the  most  part  declined  open  conflicts,  and 
threw  themselves  into  towns  fortified  with  great  skill  and  defended 
with  great  obstinacy.  But,  notwithstanding  some  reverses,  the  rapid 
movements  and  steady  resolution  of  Csesar  and  his  officers  triumphed. 
The  last  hope  of  the  Gauls  lay  in  the  strong  fortress  of  Avaricum 
(Bourges) ; and  when  this  at  last  yielded,  all  actual  resistance  was  at 
an  end.  But  for  the  two  next  winters  he  was  again  obliged  to  winter 
beyond  the  Alps  ; and  by  the  beginning  of  the  year  50  b.o.,  the  ninth 
of  his  command,  he  had  conquered  the  whole  country,  and  reduced 
every  murmur  to  silence.  This  conquest  was  achieved  at  a fearful 
loss  of  life.  Nearly  a million  of  Gauls  and  Germans  are  computed  to 
have  been  sacrificed  in  those  eight  years  of  war.  Caesar  was  humane 
in  the  treatment  of  his  fellow-citizens  ; but,  like  a true  Roman,  he 
counted  the  lives  of  barbarians  as  naught. 

While  therefore  Crassus  was  engaged,  never  to  return,  in  the  East, 
and  Caesar  was  occupied  with  serious  dangers  in  Gaul,  Pompey,  no 
longer  bound  by  marriage  ties,  was  complete  master  of  Rome.  Con- 
trary to  all  precedent,  he  sent  lieutenants  to  govern  Spain  in  his 
stead,  pleading  his  employment  as  curator  of  the  corn  market  as  a 
reason  for  his  remaining  at  home.  As  a matter  of  form,  he 
lived  outside  the  city  at  his  Alban  villa,  and  never  appeared 
publicly  at  least  within  the  walls  of  Rome.  But  he  did  not 
the  less  keep  a watchful  eye  on  political  events.  At  present,  in- 
deed, he  interfered  little.  He  seems  to  have  expected  that  the 
condition  of  things  would  at  length  become  so  desperate,  and 
all  government  so  impossible,  that  aU  orders  would  imite  in  pro- 
claiming him  dictator.  In  54  b.o.  consuls  were  elected  who  were 
more  in  the  interest  of  the  senate  than  of  the  popular  party,  probably 
by  a free  use  of  money.  When  the  elections  for  53  b.o.  approached, 
several  tribunes  of  the  popular  party  bound  themselves  together,  and 
by  their  veto  prevented  aU  elections  whatsoever  ; and  for  eight  months 
the  city  was  left  in  a state  of  anarchy,  without  any  responsible  gov- 
ernment. At  length  two  consuls  were  chosen  ; but  when  they  pro- 
posed to  hold  the  comitia  for  the  elections  of  62  b.o.,  the  same  scenes 
were  renewed.  The  tribunes  obstinately  refused  to  permit  any  elec- 
tions ; and  when  the  calends  of  January  came  round,  there  were  no 


lli'E''OF  JULIUS  C^SAH. 


J8 

■■aagistra>,' . ,o  assume  the  government.  But  in  a few  days  an  eveat 
happened  wh.ich  completely  altered  all  political  relations. 

We  may  attribute  all  the  late  movements  of  the  tribunes  to  the  in* 
ipiration  of  Clodius.  In  Csesar’s  absence  he  had  become  the  leadei 
of  the  popular  party.  During  the  present  interregnum,  he  came  for- 
ward as  candidate  for  the  praetorship,  while  his  enemy  Milo  sought  to 
be  consul.  On  the  18th  of  Januarj%  52  b.c.,  Milo  was  travelling  with 
his  wife  and  family,  attended  (as  u.'r^ualj  by  a strong  armed  retinue, 
along  the  Appiaii  Road  to  Lanuvium,  where  he  held  a municipal 
office.  Near  Bovillse  he  met  Clodius  riding  with  a small  number  of 
attendants  also  armed.  A quarrel  arose  among  the  servants  ; Clo- 
dius mingled  in  the  fray,  and,  being  wounded,  took  refuge  in  a tav- 
ern. Milo,  determined  not  to  suffer  for  an  imperfect  act  of  violence, 
surrounded  the  house,  drew  forth  his  wounded  enemy,  and  left  hiia 
dead  uf)on  the  road.  The  body  was  picked  up  by  a friend  soon 
after,  and  carried  to  Rome.  Hete  it  was  exposed  in  the  forum,  and 
a dreadful  riot  arose.  The  houses  of  Milo  and  other  senatorial  chiefs 
were  assaulted,  but  they  were  strongly  built  and  prepared  for  de- 
fence, and  the  populace  was  beaten  off.  But  the  furniture  of  the  curia, 
the  ancient  meeting-place  of  the  senate,  was  seized  to  make  a funeral- 
pile  to  the  deceased  demagogue  ; the  curia  itself  and  ether  buildings 
were  involved  in  flames.  Every  day  witnessed  a fresh  riot,  till  the 
senate  named  Pompey  as  head  of  a commission  to  restore  order. 
This  was  done  ; and  it  was  supposed  that  he  would  have  been  ap- 
piflnted  dictator  at  once,  had  not  Caesar  been  at  Luca  during  this 
winter,  watching  for  a false  move  of  the  party  opposed  to  him.  To 
avoid  a direct  collision,  Cato  and  Bibulus  recommended  that  Pompej^ 
should  be  named  as  sole  consul.  Milo  was  soon  after  brought  to  trial 
for  the  death  of  Clodius.  Cicero  was  his  advocate,  and  had  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  to  prepare  a speech  in  justification  of  the 
slaughter  of  Clodius.  The  jury  were  willing  to  have  acquitted  Milo. 
But  Pompey  was  anxious  to  get  rid  of  a citizen  as  troublesome  on  the 
one  side  as  Clodius  had  been  on  the  other  : and  he  placed  soldiers  at 
every  avenue  of  the  court  for  the  purpose,  as  he  said,  of  preserving  or- 
der. This  unwonted  sight,  and  the  fear  of  popular  violence,  robbed 
Cicero  of  his  eloquence  and  the  judges  of  their  courage.  ^lilo  was 
t Jndemned,  and  fled  to  Marseilles.  Cicero  sent  him  there  a written 
speech,  such  (he  said)  as  he  intended  to  have  spoken.  Milo,  who 
knew  no  fear,  sarcastically  replied,  that  “he  was  glad  that  it  had 
Kot  been  delivered  ; else  he  should  not  then  have  been  eating  tb« 
fine  mullets  o.f  Marseilles.  ” 

Pompe}^  had  now  reached  the  height  of  his  ambitiou.  He  was  vir- 
tually raised  to  the  position  of  dictator,  without  being  bound  to  any 
party — popular  or  senatorial.  But  from  this  time  iie  seems  to  have 
made  up  his  mind  to  break  with  Caesar,  and  to  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  senatorial  nobility  without  binding  himself  to  its  traditional 
policy.  He  married  Cornelia,  the  daughter  of  MeteUus  Scipio,  a lead 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C.ESAR. 


39 


ing  membei  o.  the  aristocracy,  and  on  the  1st  of  August  associated 
his  new  father-in-law  in  the  consulship  with  himself.  He  repealed 
some  of  the  democratic  measures  of  Clodius,  and  made  rules  for  the 
better  conduct  of  elections,  and  the  assignment  of  provinces.  He 
struck  indirectly  at  Caesar  by  several  new  enactments.  He  procured 
a decree  of  the  senate  by  which  his  government  of  Spain  was  pro- 
longed for  five  years  longer, whereas  Caesar’s  command  in  Gaul  would 
terminate  in  little  more  than  two  years.  By  this  law  Pompey  calcu- 
lated that  he  would  be  able  to  keep  his  own  army  on  foot  after  the 
Gallic  conqueror  had  disbanded  his.  In  anticipation  of  Caesar’s  seek 
ing  to  obtain  a second  consulship,  it  was  further  provided  that  no  one 
should  hold-a- province  till  five  years  had  elapsed  from  the  end  of  his 
tenure  of  office.  By  this  law  Pompey  calculated  that  his  rival  would 
be  left  for  this  period  without  any  military  force.  It  is  strange  that 
Pompey,  with  the  intimate  knowledge  that  he  ought  to  have  gained 
of  CtEsar’s  character  during  his  long  political  connection  with  him, 
should  not  have  foreseen  that  a man  so  resolute  and  so  ambitious 
would  break  through  the  cobwebs  of  law  by  the  strong  hand. 

Pompey  was  disappointed  in  his  hope  of  remaining  as  supreme 
arbiter  of  the  fate  of  Rome,  without  joining  heart  and  hand  with  the 
senatorial  nobility.  The  men  who  were  now  coming  forward  as 
leaders  of  that  party  were  men  of  action.  Lucullus  was  dead.  Hor- 
teusius  also  was  dead  to  public  life.  Cicero  left  Rome  at  this  moment 
to  assume  the  government  of  Cilicia  in  virtue  of  the  law  just  passed 
b.y  Pompey,  by  which  magistrates  lately  in  office  were  excluded  from 
government ; for  it  was  added,  that  the  present  need  should  be  sup- 
plied by  those  consulars  or  praetorians  who  had  not  yet  held  govern- 
ments. The  orator  was  absent  from  the  beginning  of  51  to  the  end 
of  50  B.C.,  and  during  this  time  the  chief  authority  in  the  senate  be-  • 
longed  to  the  brothers  M.  Marcellus  and  C.  Marcellus,  who  held  the 
consulship  successively  in  the  above-named  years,  together  with 
Domitius  Ahenobarhus  and  others,  who  hated  Pompey  almost  as 
much  as  Caesar.  The  people  of  Rome  and  Italy  looked  on  with  little 
interest.  They  had  no  sympathy  either  with  Pompey  or  the  senate, 
and  Caesar’s  long  absence  had  weakened  his  influence  in  the  forum. 

It  was  simply  a dispute  for  power,  between  the  senatorial  nobility  on 
the  one  hand  and  two  military  chiefs  on  the  other.  These  chiefs  at 
first  united  against  the  senate,  and  then  parted  so  irreconcilal)ly  that 
one  of  them  was  thrown  into  a forced  alliance  with  that  body. 
Pompey  and  the  senatorial  leaders  agreed  only  in  one  point — the 
aeoessity  of  stripping  Caesar  of  power. 


:0 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAB. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SECOND  CrVIL  WAE — DEATH  OF  POMPEY.  (50-48  B.C.) 

The  senatorial  chiefs  had  resolved  to  break  with  Caesar.  Tlie  aU 
iack  was  commenced  by  the  consul  M.  Marcelhis,  in  September,  51 
B.C.  The  proconsul  had  at  that  time  just  succeeded  in  putting  down, 
the  formidable  insurrection  organized  by  Vercingetorix,  and  the  fact 
of  his  complete  success  could  not  yet  be  known  at  Rome.  It  was 
the  eighth  year  of  his  command,  and  therefore  little  more  than  two 
years  were  yet  to  run  before  he  became  a private  citizen.  He  had, 
however,  already  intimated  his  intention  of  offering  himself  for  the 
consulship,  either  in  the  next  3'ear  or  the  j^ear  after  that,  in  order 
that  he  might,  by  continued  tenure  of  office,  be  safe  from  the  prose- 
cution with  which  he  was  threatened  on  laying  down  his  proconsular 
command  ; and  it  wms  intended  to  ask  permission  of  the  senate  that 
he  might  become  a candidate  without  returning  to  Rome.  For,  if 
he  continued  to  be  proconsul,  he  could  not  legallj'  enter  the  gates  ; 
and  if  he  ceased  to  be  proconsul,  he  would  be  exposed  to  personal 
danger  from  the  enmity  of  the  senatorial  chiefs.  But  INf.  Marcellus 
was  not  content  to  wait  to  tiy  the  matter  on  this  issue.  On  his  mo- 
tion a decree  was  passed,  by  which  the  consuls  of  the  next  year  were 
ordered  at  once  to  bring  before  the  senate  the  question  of  redistribut- 
ing the  provincial  governments  ; and  clauses  were  added  providing, 
first,  that  no  tribune  should  be  allowed  to  interpose  his  veto  ; .sec- 
ondly, that  the  senate  wmuld  take  upon  themselves  the  task  of  pro- 
viding for  Caesar’s  veterans.  The  purpose  of  this  decree  was  mani- 
fest. It  was  intended  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  j'earto  supersede 
Caesar,  though  the  law  gave  him  two  years  more  of  command  in 
Gaul  ; it  was  intended  to  stop  the  mouth  of  any  tribune  in  Caesar’s 
interest ; it  was  intended  to  sap  the  fidelity  of  his  soldiers,  bj"  templ- 
ing them  with  hopes  of  obtaining  lands  in  Italj’. 

But  the  movement  was  too  open  and  unadvised.  Ser.  Sulpicius,  the 
other  consul,  though  a member  of  the  senatorial  part\',  opposed  it, 
and  it  was  allowed  to  fall  to  the  ground.  Still  a move  had  been 
'nade,  and  men’s  minds  were  familiarized  with  the  nolion  of  strip- 
jiing  Caesar  of  his  command. 

Caesar  felt  that  the  crisis  was  at  hand.  The  next  j'ear  of  his  Gallic 
government  he  spent  in  organizing  Gaul.  All  sjTnptoms  of  insurrec- 
tion in  that  country  were  at  an  end.  The  militarj'  population  had 
suffered  too  terribly  to  be  able  to  resume  arms.  The  mUd  and  equit- 
able arrangements  of  Caesar  gave  general  satisfaction.  The  Gallic  chiefs 
and  cities  began  to  prefer  the  arts  of  Roman  civilization  to  their  own 
rude  state.  "There  can  be  little  doubt  that  if  Caesar  had  been  reduced 


LIFE  OF  JUl,j.vjS  C^SAK. 


4! 


to  play  the  part  of  Sertorius  in  Gaul,  he  would  have  been  able  to  do 
so  with  eminent  success. 

He  did  not,  however,  neglect  precautions  at  home.  Of  the  new 
consuls  (for  the  year  50  b.c.),  C.  Marcellus,  brother  of  Marcus,  the 
late  consul,  was  his  known  and  declared  enemy  ; but  L.  Himilius 
Paullus  had  been  secretly  won  by  a share  of  the  gold  which  tlie  con- 
queror had  collected  during  his  long  commaud.  Among  the  tribunes 
of  the  year  was  a young  man  named  M.  Scribonius  Curio,  son  of  one 
of  Sylla’s  most  determined  partisans.  His  talents  were  ready,  his 
eloquence  great,  his  audacity  iucompaiable.  He  had  entered  upon 
political  life  at  an  extremely  early  age,  and  was  a leader  among  those 
young  nobles  who  had  hoped  to  profit  by  Catiline’s  audacity,  and 
whom  Cicero  ten  years  before  designated  as  “ tlie  bloodthirsty 
youth.”  Since  that  time  he  had  attached  himself  to  Cicero  ; and  tlie 
credulous  orator  was  pleased  to  think  that  he  had  reclaimed  this  im- 
petuous and  profligate  young  man.  But  Cicero  was  not  the  only  per- 
son who  had  attempted  to  sway  the  pliant  will  of  Curio.  Caisar  also, 
or  his  Gallic  gold,  had  made  a convert  of  him.  The  nobles,  ignorant 
of  this  secret,  promoted  his  election  to  the  tribunate,  and  thus  un- 
warily committed  power  to  a bold  and  uncompromising  foe. 

M.  CeeHus  Rufus,  another  profligate  youth  of  great  ability,  whom 
Cicero  flattered  himself  he  had  won  over  to  what  he  deemed  the  side 
of  honor  and  virtue,  was  also  secretly  on  Caisar’s  side.  During  the 
whole  of  the  orator’s  absence  in  Cilicia,  this  unprincipled  young  man 
kept  up  a brisk  correspondence  with  him,  as  if  he  was  a firm  adher- 
ent of  the  senatorial  party.  But  on  the  first  outbreak  of  the  quarrel 
he  joined  the  enemy. 

A third  person,  hereafter  destined  to  play  a conspicuous  part  in 
civil  broils,  now  appeared  at  Rome  as  the  avowed  friend  and  partisan 
of  CiEsar.  This  was  young  M.  Antonins,  better  known  as  Mark  An- 
tony, sou  of  M.  Antonius  Creticus,  and  therefore  grandson  of  the 
great  orator.  His  uncle,  C.  Antonins,  had  beeu  consul  with  Cicero, 
and  had  left  a dubious  reputation.  His  mother  was  Julia,  daughter 
of  L.  Caesar,  consul  in  the  year  before  Cicero  held  the  office,  a dis- 
tant relation  of  the  great  Caesar.  Antony  had  served  under  Gabinius 
in  the  East,  and  for  the  last  two  years  had  beeu  one  of  Caesar’s 
affleers  in  Gaul.  He  now  came  to  Rome  to  sue  for  the  augurate, 
vacant  by  the  death  of  the  orator  Horteusius  ; and,  assisted  by 
Caesar’s  influence  and  his  own  great  connections,  he  was  elected. 
He  was  thirty-three  years  of  age,  as  ready  of  tongue,  as  bold  and  un- 
icrupulous  in  action  as  Curio,  and  appropriately  offered  himself  to 
be  elected  as  successor  to  that  young  adventurer  in  the  College  of 
Tribunes.  Thus,  for  the  year  50  b.c.  Caesar’s  interests  w ere  watched 
by  Curio,  and  in  the  year  49  b.c.  Antony  succeeded  to  the  task. 

C.  Marcellus  did  not  venture  to  revive,  in  50  b.c.,  the  bold  attack 
which  had  beeu  made  by  M.  Marcellus  in  the  preceding  year.  But 
at  Pompty’s  suggestion,  U was  represented  that  a Parthian  war  was 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


imminent,  and  tjoth  the  rivals  were  desired  to  furnish  one  legion  for 
service  in  the  East.  Csesar  at  once  complied.  Pompey  evaded  the 
demand  by  asking  Cse.sar  to  return  the  legion  which  had  been  lent  by 
himself  after  the  destruction  of  the  two  legions  bj"  Ambiorix.  This 
request  also  Cajsar  obej'ed,  so  that  in  fact  both  legions  were  with- 
drawn from  his  army.  Their  employment  in  the  East  proved  to  be 
ft  mere  pretext.  Thej^  were  both  stationed  at  Capua,  no  doubt  to 
overawe  the  Campanian  district,  which,  since  the  agrarian  law  of 
Caesar’s  consulship,  had  been  completely  in  his  interest. 

Any  further  assault  was  anticipated  by  a proposal  made  b}-  Curio. 
It  was  that  both  Pompey  and  Caesar  should  resign  their  commands 
and  disband  their  armies  ; “ this  was  but  fair,’’  Tie  said,  “ for  both  ; 
nor  could  the  will  of  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome  be  considered 
tree  while  Pompey  was  at  hand  with  a mililarj'  force  to  control  their 
deliberations  and  their  votes.  ” But  the  senate  turned  a deaf  ear  to 
this  dexterous  proposal,  and  the  j'ear  closed  as  it  began,  without  any 
approach  to  a peaceful  settlement.  Curio  now  threw  off  all  disguise, 
and  openly  avowed  himself  the  agent  of  Ctesar  in  the  senate. 

The  consuls  for  the  ensuing  year  (49  u.c.)  were  L.  Lentulus  Crus, 
and  another  C.  Marcellus,  cousin-gerrnau  of  the  two  brothers  who 
had  preceded  him.  Both  w'ere  in  the  iutere.=t  of  Pompey.  Scarcely 
liad  thej^  entered  upon  office,  when  the  crisis  which  had  been  so  long 
viuspended  arrived. 

On  the  calends  of  .January,*  letters  from  Cresar  were  laid  before 
the  senate  by  Curio,  in  which  the  proconsul  expre.ssed  his  readiness 
“ to  accept  the  late  tribune’s  proposal  that  Pompey  and  himself 
should  both  resign  their  military^  power  ; as  soon  as  he  was  assured 
that  all  soldiers  were  removed  from  the  neighborhood  of  Rome,  he 
would  enter  the  gates  as  a private  person,  and  oiler  himself  candi- 
date for  the  consulship.”  Warm  debates  followed,  in  which  iletcl- 
lus  Scipio,f  Pompey’s  father-in-law,  and  Cato  urged  that  Caesar 
should  be  declared  a public  enemy,  unless  he  laid  down  his  command 
by  a certain  day^  But  even  this  did  not  satisfy  the  majority.  Xot 
only  was  Caesar  outlawed,  but  on  the  Gth  of  January'  a decree  was 
framed  investing  the  consuls  with  dictatorial  power,  in  the  same 
form  that  had  been  used  against  C.  Gracchus,  against  Saturninus. 
against  Catiline.  On  the  following  night,  3Iark  Antony,  who  had 
vainly  essayed  to  stem  the  tide,  fled  from  the  city,  together  with  his 
brother  tribune,  Q.  Cassius  Longinus,  brother  of  the  more  famous 
C.  Cassius. 

The  die  was  now  cast.  Caesar  had  no  longer  any'  choice.  lie 
must  either  offer  an  armed  resistance  or  save  himself  by'  flight. 


* Strictly  speaking,  the  year  49  B.c.  had  not  yet  begun  ; for  the  Roman  calendar 
was  now  nearly  two  months  in  advance  of  the  real  time:  Jau.  lit,  705  a.u.c.=Xov. 
13th,  50 B.c.  See  Fischer’s  p.  221.  . 

t He  was  a Scipio  by  birth,  being  great-grandson  of  Scipio  Xasica  (nicknamed 
Serapio),  the  slayer  of  Ti.  Gracchus,  and  wag  adopted  by  lletellus  Pius. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


43 


There  can  be  no  doubt  that  both  parties  were  unprepared  for  imme. 
diate  war.  Caesar  had  but  oue  legion  in  Cisalpiue  Gaul ; for  the  long 
uesitatiou  of  his  enemies  made  him  doubt  whether  they  would  ever 
defy  him  to  mortal  conflict.  Porapey  knew  the  weakness  of  his 
rival’s  forces.  He  also  knew  that  Labienus,  the  most  distinguished 
of  Caesar’s  officers,  was  ready  to  desert  his  leader,  and  he  believed 
that  such  an  example  would  be  followed  by  many.  He  calculated 
that  Caesar  would  not  dare  to  move  forward,  or  that  if  he  did  he 
would  fall  a victim  to  his  own  adventurous  rashness.  For  himself 
he  had  one  legion  close  to  Home,  Caesar’s  two  legions  at  Capua  ; and 
Sylla’s  veterans  were,  it  was  supposed,  ready  to  take  arms  for  the 
senate  at  a moment’s  notice.  “ I have  but  to  stamp  my  foot,”  said 
the  great  commander,  “and  armed  men  wull  start  from  the  soil  of 
Italy.” 

But  Caesar’s  prompt  audacity  at  once  remedied  his  own  want  of 
preparation,  and  disconcerted  all  the  calculations  of  his  opponents. 
At  the  close  of  the  preceding  year,  after  a triumphant  reception  in 
the  cities  of  Cisalpine  Gaul,  he  had  stationed  himself  with  the  single 
legion,  of  which  we  spoke  just  now,  at  Ravenna.  Here  he  was  sur- 
prised by  letters  announcing  the  decree  of  the  6th  of  January.  His 
resolution  was  at  once  taken.  He  reviewed  his  legion,  addressed 
them,  and  without  betraying  what  had  hapiiened,  ascertained  their 
readiness  to  follow  whithersoever  he  led.  At  nightfall  he  left  Ra- 
venna secretly,  crossed  the  Rubicon,  which  divided  his  provinces 
from  Italy,  and  at  daybreak  entered  Ariminum.*  Here  he  met  the 
tribunes  Antony  and  Q.  Cassius,  on  their  way  from  Rome.  His  legion 
arrived  soon  after,  and  orders  were  sent  off  to  the  nearest  troops  in 
Transalpine  Gaul  to  follow  his  steps  with  all  speed.  But  he  waited 
not  for  them.  With  his  single  legion,  he  appeared  before  Picenum, 
Fanum,  Ancona,  Iguvium,  Auximum,  and  Asculum.  All  these 
towns  surrendered  without  a blow,  and  thus  by  the  beginning  of 
February  Caesar  was  master  of  all  Umbria  and  Picenum.  By  the 
middle  of  that  month  he  had  been  reinforced  by  two  additional 
legions  from  Gaul,  and  was  strong  enough  to  invest  the  fortress  of 
Corfinium,  in  the  Pelignian  Apennines.  But  this  place  was  vigor- 
ously defended  by  the  energetic  Domitius  Ahenobarbus,  accompanied 
’oy  a number  of  senators.  At  the  close  of  a week,  however,  news 
came  that  Pompey  and  the  consuls  had  marched  southward  from 
Capua  ; and  Domitius,  finding  himself  utterly  unsupported,  surren- 
dered at  discretion.  Caesar  allowed  him  and  all  his  senatorial  friends 
to  go  their  way,  and  to  take  with  them  a large  sum  of  public  money, 
even  without  exacting  a promise  that  they  would  take  no  further 
part  in  the  war.  On  entering  the  town  he  strictly  ordered  that  his 


* This  ia  Caesar’s  simple  narrative.  The  dramatic  scene,  in  which  he  is  repre- 
sented as  pausing  on  the  banks  of  the  Rubicon,  and  anxiously  weighing  the  proba- 
ble consequences  of  one  irremediable  step,  is  due  tv  rhetorical  writers  or  latet 


44 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C-ESAR. 


men  should  abstain,  not  only  from  personal  violence,  but  even  from 
petty  pillage.  Keports  bad  been  industriously  spread  that  the  pro- 
consul’s troops  were  not  Romans  but  Gauls,  ferocious  barbarians, 
whose  bauds  would  be  against  every  Italian  as  their  natural  enemj'. 
The  politic  humanity  which  he  now  showed  produced  the  more  sur- 
prise, and  had  a great  effect  in  reconciling  to  his  cause  many  who 
had  hitherto  stood  aloof.  Almost  all  the  soldiers  of  Domitius  took 
service  under  the  lenient  conqueror. 

After  the  fall  of  Corfinium,  Caesar  hastened  onward  through  Apuli." 
in  pursuit  of  Pompey.  By  successive  reinforcements,  his  legions  had 
now  been  swelled  to  the  number  of  six.  But  when  he  arrived  at 
Bnmdusium,  on  the  9th  of  March,*  he  found  that  the  consuls  had 
sailed  for  Dyurhachium,  though  Pompey  was  still  in  the  Italian 
port.  The  town  was  too  strong  to  be  taken  by  assault ; and  nine 
days  after  Caesar  appeared  before  its  wmlls,  Pompey  embarked  at 
leisure  and  carried  his  last  soldier  out  of  Italy.  Disappointed  of  his 
prey,  Caesar  returned  upon  his  steps,  and  reached  Rome  upon  the  1st 
of  April,  f w'here  M.  Antony,  after  receiving  the  submission  of 
Etruria,  had  prepared  the  way  for  his  reception.  The  people,  on  the 
motion  of  the  same  tribune,  gave  Caesar  full  powmr  to  take  what  money 
he  desired  from  the  treasury,  without  sparing  even  the  sacred  hoard 
which  had  been  set  apart  after  the  invasion  of  the  Gauls,  and  had 
never  since  been  touched  except  in  the  necessities  of  the  Hannibalic 
war.  There  was  no  longer  any  need  of  a reserve  fund  against  the 
Gauls,  it  was  argued,  now  that  the  Gauls  had  become  peaceful  sub- 
jects of  the  republic.  Notwithstanding  this  vote,  the  senatorial  tri- 
bune, L.  Metellus,  a son  of  Metellus  Creticus,  refused  to  produce  the 
keys  of  the  treasury,  and,  when  Cassar  ordered  the  doors  to  be  broken 
open,  endeavored  to  bar  his  passage  into  the  sacred  chamber. 
“ Stand  aside,  j’oung  man,”  said  Caesar,  “ it  is  easier  for  me  to  do 
than  to  say.”  i 

He  was  now  master  of  Italy,  as  well  as  Gaul.  To  pursue  Pompey 
to  Epirus  was  impossible,  because  the  senatorial  officers  swept  the 
sea  with  a large  and  well-appointed  fleet,  and  Caesar  had  very  few 
ships  at  his  disposal.  Moreover,  in  Spam,  which  had  been  subjeet  to 
Pompey’s  rule  for  the  last  five  years,  there  was  a veteran  army,  ready 
to  enter  Italy  as  soon  as  he  left  it.  The  rema"inder  of  the  season,  there 
fore,  he  resolved  to  occupy  in  the  reduction  of  that  army. 

On  his  way  to  Spain,  he  found  that  Marseilles,  the  chosen  retreat 
of  Milo,  being  by  its  aristocratical  form  of  government  attached  to 
the  senatorial  party,  had  declared  for  Pompey.  Leaving  Dec.  Brutus 


* the  9th  of  March  of  the  current  Roman  year  = Jan.  17th,  49  b.c.,  of  our 
time. 

t Feb.  9th,  of  our  time. 

j Plut.  Vit.  CcES.  c.  36,  Cicero  ad  Att.  x.  4,  and  other  authors.  Caesar  himself 
tells  us  that  Lentulus  the  consul  left  th<>  treasury  open  (Beil.  Civ.  i.  13).  Metellus, 
then,  must  have  locked  it  after  the  Ih  i ouipey. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


46 


with  twelve  ships,  and  C.  Trebonius  with  a body  of  troops,  to  block- 
ade the  town  both  by  sea  and  land,  he  continued  his  march,  and 
crossed  the  Pyrenees  early  in  the  summer.  Hither  Spain  was  held 
by  L.  Afranius,  an  old  otiicer  of  Pompey,  whom  he  had  raised  to  the 
consulship  in  60  b.c.,  and  M.  Petreius,  the  experienced  soldier  who 
had  destroyed  the  army  of  Catiline.  Fartlier  Spain  was  intrusted  to 
the  care  of  the  accomplislied  M.  Terentius  Varro. 

Near  Ilerda  (Lerida),  on  the  river  Sicoris,  an  affluent  of  the  Ebro, 
Caesar  was  encountered  by  the  Pompeian  leaders.  He  gives  us  a 
very  full  account  of  the  movements  which  followed,  from  ■which  it  is 
pretty  clear  that  so  far  as  military  science  went,  Caesar  was  outgen- 
eralled  by  Petreius.  At  one  time  he  was  in  the  greatest  peril  from  a 
sudden  rising  in  the  river,  which  cut  him  off  from  all  his  supplies. 
He  released  himself  by  that  fertility  of  resource  which  distinguished 
him.  He  had  seen  in  Britain  boats  of  wicker,  covered  with  hide, 
such  as  are  still  used  on  the  Severn  under  the  name  of  coracles  ; a 
number  of  them  were  secretly  constructed,  and  b}^  their  help  he  re- 
established his  communications.  But  whatever  might  be  his  military 
inferiority,  yet  over  the  weak  Afranius  and  the  rude  Petreius  his  dex- 
terity in  swaying  the  wills  of  men  gave  him  an  unquestioned  superi- 
ority. Avoiding  a battle  always,  he  encouraged  communications  be- 
tween his  own  men  and  the  soldiers  of  the  enemy  ; at  length  the 
Pompeian  leaders,  finding  themselves  unable  to  control  their  own 
troops,  were  obliged  to  surrender  their  command.  Two  thirds  of  their 
force  took  service  with  the  politic  conqueror. 

Varro,  in  Farther  Spain,  by  dexterous  intrigue,  contrived  to  evade 
immediate  .submission.  But  after  a vain  attempt  to  collect  a force, 
he  surrendered  to  the  conqueror  at  Corduba  (Cordova),  and  was  al- 
lowed to  go  where  he  pleased.  Before  autumn  closed,  all  Spain  was 
at  the  feet  of  Caesar,  and  was  committed  to  the  government  of  Q. 
Cassius,  the  tribune  wlio  had  supported  his  cause  at  Rome.  Being 
thus  secured  from  danger  in  the  West,  he  hastened  to  return  into  Italy. 

As  he  passed  through  Southern  Card  he  found  that  Marseilles  still 
held  out  against  Dec.  Brutus  and  Trebonius.  The  defence  had  been 
most  gallant.  The  blockade  by  sea  had  been  interrupted  by  a de- 
tachment from  Pompey’s  fleet;  and  the  great  works  raised  by  the 
besiegers  on  land  had  been  met  by  counter-works  of  equal  magnitude 
on  tlie  part  of  the  besieged.  But  Trebonius  had  perseveringly  re- 
paired all  losses  ; and  on  the  arrival  of  Caesar,  the  Massilians  surren- 
dered themselves  with  a good  grace.  As  in  all  other  cases,  he  treated 
Ihem  with  the  utmost  clemency. 

On  reaching  Italy,  he  was  obliged  to  turn  aside  to  Placentia  for  the 
purpose  of  quelling  .%  mutiny  that  had  arisen  in  a legion  which  had 
been  left  there,  and  which  complained  that  promises  of  discharge  and 
reward  made  to  them  had  not  been  kept.  His  presence  at  once  sup- 
pressed the  mutin}^  But  he  selected  twelve  of  the  ringleaders  for 
eapital  punishment.  Among  these  twelve  was  one  who  proved  that 
A.B.— 13 


46 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAK. 


he  had  been  absent  when  the  mutiny  broke  out.  In  his  place  the 
eenturion  who  accused  him  was  executed. 

During  his  absence  in  Spain,  M.  ^milius  Lepidus,  whom  he  had 
left  as  prefect  of  the  city  to  govern  Italy,  had  named  him  dictator. 
From  Placentia  he  hastened  to  Rome  and  assumed  the  great  dignity 
thus  conferred  upon  him.  But  he  held  it  only  eleven  days.  In  that 
period  he  presided  at  the  comitia,  and  was  there  elected  consul,  to- 
gether with  P.  Servilius  Isauricus,  one  of  his  old  competitors  for  :he 
chief  pontificate.  He  also  passed  several  laws.  One  of  these  restored 
all  exiles  to  the  city,  except  Milo,  thus  undoing  one  of  the  last  rem- 
nants of  Sylla’s  dictatorship.  A second  provided  for  the  pajunent 
of  debts,  so  as  to  lighten  the  burdens  of  the  debtors  without  satisfy- 
ing the  democratic  cry  for  a complete  abolition  of  all  contracts  A 
third  conferred  the  franchise  on  the  citizens  of  Transpadane  Gaul, 
who  had  since  the  Social  war  enjoyed  the  Latin  right  only. 

Of  the  doings  of  his  lieutenants  in  other  quarters  during  this 
memorable  year,  Csesar  did  not  receive  accounts  at  all  commensurate 
with  his  own  marvellous  success.  In  Illyria,  P.  Cornelius  Dolabella, 
son-in-law  of  Cicero,  who  had  joined  the  conqueror,  had  been  dis- 
gracefully beaten,  and  Caius,  brother  of  Mark  Antonj’,  taken  pris- 
oner, so  that  all  the  eastern  coast  of  the  Adriatic  was  now  in  the 
hands  of  the  Pompeians. 

Curio  had  been  sent  to  occupy  Sicily,  where  Cato  commanded  in 
the  name  of  the  senate.  The  philosopher,  having  no  force  adequate 
to  resist,  retired  from  the  unequal  contest,  and  joined  Pompey  in 
Epirus.  Curio  then  passed  over  to  Africa,  where  the  Pompeian  gen- 
eral Varus  held  command.  He  took  the  field,  and  was  at  first  de- 
feated by  Curio.  But  presently  Juba,  King  of  Mauritania,  appeared 
in  the  field  as  an  ally  of  the  senatorial  party  ; and  Curio  was  obliged 
in  his  turn  to  retreat  before  the  combined  forces  of  the  enemy,  till  he 
look  refuge  in  the  famous  camp  of  Scipio.  From  this  position  he 
was  drawn  out  by  a feigned  retreat  of  the  African  prince  ; and 
being  surprised  by  an  overpowering  force,  he  was  defeated  and  slain. 
Africa,  therefore,  as  well  as  aU  the  eastern  world,  remained  in  the 
hands  of  the  Pompeians,  while  Italy,  Gaul,  and  Spain  owned  the 
authority  of  Csesar. 

Cicero  had  returned  fro  n his  Cilician  province  to  Rome,  while  the 
debates  were  being  held  which  issued  in  the  decree  of  the  6th  of  Jan 
uary.  During  his  two  years’  government  he  had  nearly  been  en 
gaged  in  very  serious  w?  rfare  with  the  Parthians.  But  C.  Cassius 
as  we  have  mentioned,  2 ive  them  so  severe  a blow  that  Cicero’s  mil 
itary  abilities  were  onlp^  tested  in  reducing  some  of  the  wild  mouu- 
fain  tribes  who  infested  Ihe  borders  of  his  province.  He  cla.med  a 
triumph  for  these  achi'rvements,  and  therefore  would  not  enter  the 
walls  of  the  city  to  be  present  at  the  termination  of  these  moment- 
ous debates.  The  r;u?8tion  of  his  triumph  was  soon  forgotten  in  tte 
rapid  course,  of  ewr.re  which  followed,  and  he  retired  to  his  Formian 


LIFE  OF  JELIUS  O^SAE. 


47 


villa,  still  attended  by  his  lictors  with  their  fasces  wreathed  in  laurel. 
From  this  place  he  went  frequently  to  have  interviews  with  Pom- 
peian leaders  on  their  retreat  through  Campania.  At  the  same  time 
many  of  his  personal  friends,  Curio,  Caelius,  DolabeUa,  Balbus,  Tre- 
batius,  and  others  had  joined  Caesar,  and  wrote  to  him  urging  him 
to  make  common  cause  with  their  generous  leader.  On  his  return 
from  Brundusiumto  Rome,  Caesar  himself  visited  him.  But  the  orator 
could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  forsake  the  cause  of  the  senate  ; and 
after  long  hesitation,  about  the  end  of  May  he  took  ship  and  joined 
Pompey  in  the  East. 

During  the  whole  of  the  preceding  year,  Pompey  had  been  actively 
engaged  in  levying  and  disciplining  an  army  for  the  ensuing  cam- 
paign. He  was  bitterly  censured  by  many  of  his  party  for  quitting 
Italy  without  a blow.  But  it  may  be  concluded  that  when  he  was 
surprised  bj'  Ctesar’s  rapid  advance,  the  only  troops  besides  those 
under  Domitius  at  Corfinium  were  the  two  legions  lately  sent  from 
Gaul  by  Caesar  ; and  these  (it  may  well  be  supposed)  he  dared  not 
trust  to  do  battle  against  their  old  commander. 

It  is  probable,  therefore,  that  he  was  really  compelled  to  quit  Italy. 
But  his  fleet  was  now  so  large  that  it  would  have  been  easy  for  him 
to  have  regained  Italian  soil.  He  made  no  attempt  to  cross  the  sea  ; 
and  we  may  therefore  assume  that  he  purposely  chose  Epirus  as  the 
ground  for  battle.  He  had  all  the  East  behind  him,  long  used  to 
reverence  his  name,  and  at  the  head  of  an  army  out  of  Italy  he  was 
less  likely  to  be  thwarted  by  the  arrogant  senatorial  chiefs, who  hated 
him  while  they  used  him.  Such  especially  was  Domitius  Ahenobar- 
bus,  who  loudly  complained  that  he  had  been  deserted  at  Corfinium. 

His  headquarters  were  fixed  at  Thessalonica,  the  chief  city  of  the 
province  of  Macedonia.  Here  the  senators  who  had  fled  from  Italy 
met  and  formed  a senate,  while  the  chief  officers  assumed  titles  of 
authority.  Pompey  had  employed  the  time  well.  The  provinces 
and  kings  of  the  East  flUed  his  mUitaiy  chest  with  treasure  ; he  had 
collected  seven  Roman  legions,  with  a vast  number  of  irregular 
auxiliaries  from  every  surrounding  monarchy,  and  a powerful  force 
of  well-appointed  cavalry  ; large  magazines  of  provisions  and  mili- 
tary stores  were  formed  ; above  all,  a fleet,  increasing  every  day  in 
numbers,  was  supplied  by  the  maritime  states  of  Illyria,  Greece,  Asia 
Minor,  Phoenicia,  and  Egypt.  Bibulus,  the  old  adversary  of  Caesar, 
took  the  command  as  admiral-in-chief , supported  by  able  lieutenants. 
With  this  naval  force  actively  employed,  it  was  hoped  that  it  would 
be  made  impossible  for  Caesar  to  land  in  Epirus.  But  here  again  his 
happy  audacity  frustrated  all  regular  opposition. 

Caesar  arrived  in  Brundusium  at  the  end  of  October,  49  b.c.^ 


* This  is  the  true  date,  according  to  our  reckoning.  By  the  Eoman  calendar,  it 

waa  December.  But,  for  the  military  operations  which  follow,  it  is  so  important  to 
note  the  true  seasons,  that  we  shall,  from  this  point,  give  the  dat«»  a**  if  tns  Bom*B 
iiendar  had  already  been  corrected. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  CjESAB. 


L8 


Twelve  legions  had  been  assembled  there.  So  much  had  their  num- 
bers been  thinned  by  Avar,  fatigue,  and  the  autumnal  fevers  prevalent 
in  Apulia,  that  each  legion  averaged  less  than  3000  men.  ITis  trans- 
ports were  so  insufficient,  that  he  was  not  able  to  ship  more  than 
seven  of  these  imperfect  legions,  with  600  horse,  though  men  and 
officers  Avere  allowed  to  take  no  heavy  baggage  and  no  servants.  All 
the  harbors  were  occupied  by  the  enemy’s  ships  ; but  it  was  not  the 
practice  for  the  ancients  to  maintain  a blockade  by  cruising  ; and 
Caesar,  having  left  Brundusium  on  the  5th  NoA'ember,  was  able  to 
land  his  first  corps  on  the  open  coast  of  Epirus,  a little  south  of  the 
Acrocerauni.an  headland.  He  sent  his  empty  ships  back  directly, 
and  marched  northward  to  Oricum  and  Apollonia,  where  he  claimed 
admission  in  virtue  of  his  consular  office.  The  claim  was  admitted, 
and  these  two  important  towns  fell  into  his  hands.  Pempey,  who  was 
still  at  Thessalonica,  on  the  first  tidings  of  his  movement  had  put 
his  army  in  motion,  and  succeeded  in  reaching  Dyrrhachium  in  time 
to  save  that  important  place.  He  then  pushed  his  lines  forward  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Apsus,  and  the  two  hostile  armies  lay  inactive  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  Avinter  with  this  stream  between  their 
camps — CtEsar  occupying  the  left  or  southern  hank,  Pompey  the 
right  or  northern  side. 

As  the  winter  passed  awa}%  Caesar  was  rendered  extremely  anxious 
by  the  non-appearance  of  his  second  corjjs,  which  Antony  was 
charged  to  bring  across.  News  soon  reached  him  that  Bibuhis, 
stung  to  the  quick  by  the  successful  landing  of  the  first  corps,  had 
put  to  sea  from  Corcyra  with  all  his  fleet,  had  overtaken  and  de- 
stroyed  thirty  of  the  returning  transports,  and  had  ever  since,  not- 
withstanding the  winter  season,  kept  so  strict  a watch  on  the  coast 
of  Italy,  that  Antony  did  not  dare  to  leave  Brundusium.  Intelli 
gence  also  reached  him  that  Caelius,  noAv  raised  to  the  rank  of  praetor, 
had  proclaimed  an  abolition  of  debts  at  Rome,  and  had  made  com- 
mon cau.se  with  the  reckless  Milo,  who  had  appeared  in  Italy  at  the 
head  of  a gang  of  desperate  men.  This  bold  enterprise,  it  is  true, 
had  failed,  and  both  the  leaders  had  fallen  ; but  it  quickened  Caesar’s 
anxiety  to  bring  matters  to  issue.  Still  no  troops  arrived.  So  stub- 
born Avas  the  will  of  Bihulus,  that  he  fell  a victim  to  his  own  vigilant 
exertions,  and  died  at  sea.  But  L.  Scrihonius  Liho,  who  had  com- 
manded a squadron  under  the  deceased  admiral,  appeared  at  Brun- 
dusium, and  occupied  an  island  off  the  harbor,  so  as  to  establish  a 
strict  blockade.  This,  however,  did  not  last ; for  it  was  found  im- 
possible  to  keep  the  men  supplied  with  fresh  water  and  provisions, 
and  Liho  was  obliged  to  resume  the  tactics  of  Bibulus.  Meantime, 
Caesar’s  impatience  Avas  rising  to  the  height.  He  had  been  lying  idle 
for  more  than  two  months,  and  complained  that  Antony  had  neglected 
several  opportunities  of  crossing  tire  Ionian  Sea.  At  length  he  en- 
gaged a small  boat  to  take  hini^  across  to  Italy  in  person.  The  sea 
ran  high,  and  the  rowers  refused  '•)  proceed,  till  the  general  revealed 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAB. 


49 


jimself  1o  them  ia  the  famous  words  ; “ You  carry  Caesar  and  Ids 
fortunes.”  All  night  they  toiled,  but  when  day  broke  they  had  made 
no  waj',  and  the  general  reluctantly  consented  to  put  back  into  the 
Apsus.  But  presently  after  he  succeeded  in  sending  over  a positive 
message  to  Antony  to  cross  over  at  all  risks  ; and  if  Antony  dis- 
obeyed, the  messenger  carried  a commission  to  his  chief  officers,  by 
whicli  they  were  ordered  to  supersede  their  commander,  and  dis 
charge  tlie  duty  which  he  neglected  to  perform.  Stung  by  this  piac 
tical  rebuke,  Antony  shipped  his  troops,  and  resolved  to  attempt  the 
passage  at  all  risks.  As  he  neared  the  coast  of  Epirus,  the  wind 
shifted  to  the  south-east,  and  being  unable  to  make  the  port  of  Ori- 
cum,  he  was  obliged  to  run  uortliward  past  Pompey’s  camp,  in  full 
view  of  the  enemy.  They  gave  chase  ; but  he  succeeded  in  lauding 
all  his  men,  four  legions  and  eight  hundred  horse,  near  the  headland 
of  Nymphaeum,  more  than  fifty  miles  north  of  the  Apsus.  Ilia 
position  was  critical,  for  Pompey’s  army  lay  between  him.  and 
Caesar.  But  Caesar,  calculating  the  point  at  which  the  squadron 
would  reach  land,  had  already  made  a rapid  march  roimd  Pompey’a 
position,  and  succeeded  in  joining  Antony  before  he  was  attacked. 
Pompey  had  also  moved  northward,  but  finding  himself  too  late  to 
assail  Antony  alone,  he  took  a new  position  some  miles  to  the  north 
of  Dyrrhachium,  and  here  formed  a strongly  intrenched  camp  resting 
upon  the  sea.  These  intrenchments  ran  in  an  irregular  half  circle  of 
nearly  fifteen  miles  in  length,  the  base  of  which  was  the  coast-line  of 
Epirus.  The  camp  was  well  supplied  with  provisions  by  sea. 

The  spring  of  48  b.c.  was  now  beginning.  It  was  probably  in 
March  that  Caesar  effected  his  union  with  Antony.  Even  after  this 
junction,  he  was  inferior  in  numbers  to  Pompey  ; and  it  is  not  with- 
out wonder  that  we  read  his  own  account  of  the  audacious  attempt 
with  which  he  began  the  campaign.  His  plan  was  to  draw  lines 
round  and  outside  of  Pompey’s  vast  intrenchments,  so  as  to  cut  him 
off  from  Dyrrhachium  and  from  all  the  surrounding  country.  As 
Pompey’s  intrenchments  formed  a curve  of  nearly  fifteen  miles, 
Caesar’s  lines  must  have  measured  considerably  more.  And  as  his  army 
was  inferior  in  numbers,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  Pompey 
would  not  submit  to  be  shut  in.  But  the  latter  general  could  not 
interrupt  the  works  without  hazarding  a general  action,  and  his 
troops  were  not  (he  thought)  sufficiently  (lisciplined  to  encounter 
Caesar’s  veterans  : the  command  of  the  sea  also  insured  him  supplies 
and  enabled  him  to  shift  his  army  to  another  position  if  necessary. 
He  therefore  allowed  Caesar  to  carry  on  his  lines  with  little  interrup- 
tion. 

During  the  winter  Caesar’s  men  had  suffered  terribly  for  want  of 
grain  and  vegetable  food.  But  as  spring  advanced,  and  the  crops 
began  to  ripen,  brighter  days  seemed  at  hand.  Pompey’s  men, 
meanwhile,  though  supplied  from  the  sea,  began  to  be  distressed  by 
want  of  fresh  water,  and  their  animals  by  want  of  green  fodder 


50 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


He  therefore  determined  to  assume  the  offensive.  At  each  extremitj 
of  Caesar’s  lines,  where  thc\"  abutted  upon  the  sea,  a second  line  of 
intrenchments  had  been  marked  out  i caching  some  waj' inland,  so 
that  at  least  for  some  distance  from  the  sea  the  lines  might  be  pro- 
tected from  an  attack  in  rear  from  the  land.  But  this  part  of  the 
work  was  as  yet  unfinished  ; and,  in  particuiar,  no  attempt  had  been 
made  to  carry  any  defence  along  the  coast  between  the  extremities 
of  these  two  lines  of  intrenchment,  so  as  to  cover  them  from  an  as- 
sault by  sea.  Pompey  was  instructed  of  this  defect  by  seme  Gallic 
deserters  ; and  he  succeeded  in  lauding  some  troops  at  the  southern 
extremity  of  the  works,  so  as  to  make  a lodgment  between  Caesar’s 
front  and  rearward  lines.  A series  of  severe  and  well -contested 
combats  followed.  But  the  Pompeians  maintained  their  ground,  and 
Caesar  at  once  perceived  that  his  works  were  completely  turned,  and 
that  all  his  labor  was  thrown  away.  Pompey  had  re-established  his 
land  communication  with  Dyrihachium,  and  circumvallation  was 
made  impossible.  Under  these  circumstances  Caesar  determined  to 
shift  the  scene  of  action  without  delay. 

During  the  spring  he  had  detached  Cn.  Domitius  Calvinus  with 
two  legions  into  Macedonia,  where  he  possessed  considerable  influ- 
ence, for  the  purpose  of  intercepting  the  march  of  IMetelius  Scipio, 
who  had  succeeded  Bibulus  in  the  government  of  Syria,  and  was  ex- 
pected every  day  to  bring  reinforcements  to  the  army  of  Pompey. 
Scipio  had  been  delayed  bj"  the  necessity  of  securing  his  province 
against  die  Parthians  ; and  had  also  spent  much  time  in  levying 
heavy  contributions  on  his  line  of  march.  lYhen  he-  arrived  in  Mace- 
donia he  found  his  passage  westward  barred  bj"  Calvinus,  who  oc- 
cupied a strong  camp  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pella.  He,  therefore, 
also  intrenched  himself,  and  awaited  succors. 

About  the  time  of  Ctesar’s  defeat  at  Dyrrhachium,  Calvinus  hau 
been  obliged  by  want  of  provisions  to  fall  back  toward  Epirus,  whii*. 
Caesar  himself  marched  by  w'ay  of  Apollonia  up  the  valley  of  the 
Aoiis.  Pompey  immediately  detached  a strong  force  to  separate  Cal- 
vinus from  his  chief.  But  Calvinus,  informed  of  Caesar’s  retrea-, 
moved  w ith  great  rapidity  to  the  southward,  and  effected  a union  with 
his  general  at  rEgimiurn,  in  the  north-western  corner  of  Thessaly. 
The  Caesa-ian  arm}',  thus  skilfully  united,  advanced  to  Gpmplii, 
which  was  taken  and  given  up  to  plunder  All  other  Thessalian 
cities,  except  Larissa,  which  had  been  occupied  by  Scipio,  opened 
their  gates  ; and  the  harvest  being  now  ripe,  the  Caesarian  arm}  re 
veiled  in  the  abundant  supplies  of  the  rich  Thessalian  plain. 

Meanwhile  Pompey  had  entered  Thessaly  from  the  north  and 
3oined  Scipfo  at  Larissa.  The  Pompeian  leaders,  elated  by  victory, 
were  quarrelling  among  themselves  for  the  prize,  w'hich  they  regard^ 
as  already  won.  Lentulus  Spinther,  Domitius  Ahenobarbus,  and 
Metellus  Scipio,  all  claimed  Caesar’s  pontificate.  Domitius  proposed 
that  all  who  had  remained  in  It;dy  or  had  not  taken  an  active  part 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C-®SAB. 


51 


in  the  contest  should  be  brought  to  trial  as  traitors  to  the  cause — 
dicero,  who  was  at  Dyrrhachium  with  Cato,  being  the  person  here 
chiefly  aimed  at.  Pompey  himseif  was  not  spared.  Domitius, 
angry  at  not  having  been  supported  at  Corflnium,  nicknamed  him 
Agamemnon  King  of  Men,  and  openly  rejected  his  authority.  The 
advice  of  the  great  general  to  avoid  a decisive  battle  was  contemptu- 
ously set  at  naught  by  all  but  Cato,  who  from  first  to  last  advocated 
any  measure  which  gave  a hope  of  avoiding  bloodshed.  Even  Fa- 
vonius,  a blunt  and  simple-minded  man,  who  usually  echoed  Cato’s 
sentiments,  loudly  complained  that  Pompey ’s  reluctance  to  fight 
would  prevent  his  friends  from  eating  their  figs  that  summer  at  Tus- 
culum. 

From  Larissa  Pompey  had  moved  southward,  and  occupied  & 
strong  position  on  an  eminence  near  the  cfty  of  Pharsalus,  overlook 
ing  the  plain  which  skirts  the  left  bank  of  the  river  Enipeus.  Caesat 
followed  and  encamped  upon  the  plain,  within  four  miles  of  the  en 
emy’s  position.  Here  the  hostile  armies  lay  watching  each  other  for 
some  time,  till  Cmsar  made  a movement  which  threatened  to  inter- 
cept Pompe3'’s  communications  with  Larissa.  The  latter  now  at 
length  yielded  to  tlie  angry  impatience  of  the  senatorial  chiefs.  He 
resolved  to  descend  from  his  strong  position  and  give  battle  upon  the 
plain  of  Pharsalus  or  Pharsalia. 

The  morning  of  the  6th  of  June*  saw  both  armies  drawn  out  in 
order  of  battle.  The  forces  of  Pompey  consisted  of  about  44,000 
men,  and  were  (if  Caesar’s  account  is  accurate)  twice  as  numerous  as 
the  army  opposed  to  them.  But  Caesar’s  were  all  veteran  troops  ; 
the  greater  part  of  Pompey’s  were  foreign  levies  recently  collected  in 
Macedonia  and  Asia,  far  inferior  to  the  soldiers  of  Gaul  and  Italy. 
Pompey’s  army  faced  the  north.  His  right  wing,  resting  on  the 
river,  was  commanded  bj'  Scipio,  the  centre  by  Lentulus  Spiuther, 
the  left  by  Domitius.  His  cavalry,  which  was  far  superior  to 
Caesar’s,  covered  the  left  flank.  Caesar  drew  up  his  forces  in  three 
lines,  of  which  the  rearmost  was  to  act  in  reserve.  His  left  was 
upon  the  river  ; and  his  small  force  of  cavalry  was  placed  upon  his 
right,  opposite  to  Pompey’s  left  wing.  To  compensate. for  his  infe- 
riority in  this  arm,  he  picked  out  six  veteran  cohorts,  who  were  to 
charge  through  the  files  of  the  horse  if  the  latter  were  obliged  to  re- 
tire. Domitius  Calvinus  commanded  in  the  centre,  Antony  on  the 
left,  Caesar  himself  upon  the  right,  where  he  kept  the  tenth  legion  ie 
rear  to  act  in  reserve. 

The  attack  began  along  Caesar’s  whole  line,  which  advanced  run, 
ning.  Pompey  ordered  his  men  to  wait  the  charge  without  moving, 
in  hopes  that  the  enemy  would  lose  breath  before  the.y  came  to  clo»  ■ 
quarters.  But  the  experienced  veterans,  observing  that  the  Pom- 
peians kept  their  ground,  halted  to  re-form  their  line  and  recoTet 


* By  ths  Boman  eAleodar,  it  was  the  9th  of  Augmt. 


O/i' 


LIFE  OP  JULIUS  CJESAB. 


breath  before  they  closed  with  the  enemy.  A desperate  conflict  fol- 
lowed. 

While  the  legions  were  engaged  along  the  whole  line,  Pompey’s 
cavalry  attacked  the  weak  squadrons  of  Caesar’s  horse  and  drove 
them  back.  But  the  veterans  who  were  ordered  to  support  them 
sallied  out  of  the  ranks  and  drove  their  formidable  pila  straight  at 
the  unarmed  faces  of  the  enemy.*  After  a brave  struggle,  Pompey’s 
cavalry  was  completely  broken  and  fled  in  disorder. 

Upon  this,  Caesar  brought  up  his  third  line,  which  was  in  reserve  ; 
and  the  infantry  of  Pompey  being  assailed  by  these  fresh  troops  in 
front,  and  attacked  in  flank  by  the  cavalry  and  cohorts  which  had 
triumphed  over  their  opponents,  gave  way  everywhere.  A general 
order  was  now  issued  by  Caesar  to  spare  the  Romans  among  their  op- 
ponents, and  to  throw  all  their  strength  upon  the  Eastern  allies.  The 
Pompeian  legionaries,  on  hearing  of  this  politic  clemency,  offered 
no  further  resistance  ; and  Pompej^  himself  rode  off  the  field  to  his 
tent,  leaving  orders  for  the  troops  to  retreat  behind  their  intrench- 
ments. 

But  this  was  not  permitted.  His  legionaries,  instead  of  returning 
to  man  the  ramparts,  dispersed  in  all  directions.  The  Eastern  allies, 
after  a terrible  slaughter,  fled  ; and  Pompey  had  only  time  to  mount 
his  horse  and  gallop  off  through  the  decuman  or  rearward  gate  of 
his  camp,  as  the  soldiers  of  Ca?sar  forced  their  way  in  by  the  praeto- 
rian or  front  gate.  The  booty  taken  was  immense.  The  hardy  veter- 
ans of  Gaul  gazed  with  surprise  on  the  tent  of  Lentulus,  adorned 
with  festoons  of  Bacchic  ivy,  and  on  the  splendid  services  of  plate 
which  were  set  out  everj-where  for  a banquet  to  celebrate  the  ex- 
pected victory. 

But  before  Caesar  allowed  his  tired  soldiers  to  en.ioy  the  fruits  of 
the  victory  of  Pharsalia,  he  required  them  to  complete  the  conquest 
The  pursuit  was  continued  during  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  on 
the  morrow.  But  the  task  was  easy.  The  clemency  of  the  con- 
queror induced  all  to  submit.  "When  Ctesar  entered  the  camp  and 
saw  the  dead  Ixidies  of  man3"  Romans  lying  about,  he  exclaimed. 

They  would  have  it  so  : to  have  laid  down  our  arms  would  have 
sealed  our  doom.”  Yet  most  of  those  who  peri.shed  were  foreigners 
or  freedmen.  The  onlj’  distinguished  person  who  fell  was  Domitius 
Ahenobarbus.  Among  those  who  came  in  and  submitted  volunta- 
rily was  M.  Junius  Brutus,  a young  man  of  whom  we  shall  hear 
more. 

Pompey  fled  precipitately  to  Larissa,  and  thence  through  the  gorge 


* The  common  story,  received  from  Plutarch,  is  that  the  order  was  sriven  because 
Pompey’s  cavalry  consisted  chiefly  of  young  Romans,  who  were  afraid  of  havim' 
their  beauty  spoilt.  Csesar,  however,  mentions  that  Pompey's  cavalry  was  excel 
lent,  and  does  not  notice  that  he  gave  any  order  at  all  about  striking  at  the  face 
The  foot-6oldiere  would  naturaliy  strike  at  the  most  defenceless  part,  and  the  stor. 
ef  the  ” spci  .ed  beauty  ” would  be  readily  added  by  some  scornful  Osesarian. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


53 


of  Tempe  to  the  mouth  of  the  Pcaeus,  where  he  found  a merchant 
vessel,  and  embarked  in  company  with  Lentulus  Spinther,  Lentulus 
Crus,  and  others.  He  dismissed  all  his  slaves.  Honest  Favonius 
proved  his  fidelity  to  the  general  by  undertaking  for  him  such 
menial  offices  as  usually  were  left  to  slaves.  The  master  of  the  ship 
knew  the  adventurers,  and  offered  to  take  them  whithersoever  they 
would,  Pompey  first  directed  his  course  to  Lesbos,  where  his  wife 
Cornelia  and  his  younger  son  Sextus  had  been  sent  for  safetv.  Hav- 
ing taken  them  on  board  he  sailed  round  to  Cilicia,  where  he  col- 
lected a few  ships  and  a small  company  of  soldiers.  With  these  he 
crossed  over  to  Cyprus,  where  he  stayed  a short  time,  deliberating 
on  his  future  course  of  action.  He  still  had  a powerful  fleet  at  sea, 
under  the  command  of  his  eldest  son  Cnseus,  assisted  by  C.  Cassius. 
Africa  was  still  his  own,  and  King  Juba  anxious  to  do  him  service. 
But  after  considering  and  rejecting  several  plans  proposed,  he  deter- 
mined to  seek  an  asylum  in  Egypt. 

Ptolemy  Auletes,  who  had  been  restored  by  Gabinius,  Pompey’s 
friend,  had  died  some  time  before.  He  had  left  his  kingdom  to  the 
divided  sway  of  his  son  Ptolemy  Dionysus  and  his  daughter  Cleo, 
patra,  under  the  guardianship  of  the  senate  ; and  the  senate  had  dele- 
gated this  trust  to  Pompey.  Hence  no  doubt  his  reason  for  choos 
mg  Egypt  as  his  place  of  retreat.  But  the  country  was  in  a very 
unsettled  state.  Cleopatra,  who  was  older  than  her  brother,  had  been 
driven  from  Alexandria  by  the  people  ; and  the  government  had 
been  seized  by  three  Greek  adventurers — Potheinus,  an  eunuch, 
Theodotus,  a rhetorician,  and  Achillas,  an  officer  of  the  army.  When 
Pompey  appeared  off  Alexandria  with  a few  ships  which  had  joined 
him  on  his  route,  and  a small  force  of  about  2000  men,  these  minis- 
ters were  engaged  in  repelling  Cleopatra,  who  was  endeavoring  to 
return  by  means  of  force.  A messenger  from  Pompey,  sent  to  sig- 
nify his  intention  of  landing,  threw  them  into  great  alarm.  In  the 
Egyptian  army  were  a number  of  officers  and  soldiers  who  had  for- 
merly served  under  Pompey  in  the  East,  and  had  been  left  there  bj' 
Gabinius.  It  was  feared  that  these  men  would  betray  Egj'pf  to  their 
old  general  ; at  least  this  was  the  reason  afterward  given  for  the 
way  in  which  he  was  treated.  All  was  left  to  the  conduct  of  Achil- 
las, a bold  man,  troubled  by  no  scruples. . A small  boat  was  sent  to 
receive  the  fugitive,  really  to  prevent  any  attendants  from  landing 
with  him,  but  under  the  false  pretence  that  the  water  was  too  shal- 
low to  allow  a larger  vessel  to  reach  the  shore.  In  the  boat  were 
Achillas  himself,  a Roman  olticer  named  Salvius,  and  another  named 
Septimius,  who  had  served  as  a tribune  under  Pompey  in  the  war 
against  the  pirates.  The  great  general  recognized  and  saluted  his 
old  officer,  and  entered  the  boat  alone  amid  the  sad  bodings  of  his 
wife  and  friends.  They  anxiously  watched  it  as  it  slowly  made  its 
way  back  to  shore,  and  were  somewhat  comforted  by  seeing  a num- 
ber of  persons  collected  on  the  beach  as  if  to  receive  their  friend  with 


M 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAB. 


honor.  At  length  the  boat  stopped,  and  Pompey  took  the  hand  oJ 
the  person  next  him  to  assist  him  in  rising.  At  this  moment  Septi- 
mius  struck  him  with  his  sword  from  behind.  He  knew  his  fate, 
submitted  without  a struggle,  and  fell  pierced  bj'  a mortal  thrust. 
His  head  was  then  cut  off  and  taken  away,  and  his  body  left  upon 
the  beach.  When  the  crowd  dispersed,  a freedman  of  Pompey’s, 
whose  name  ought  to  have  been  recorded,  assisted  by  an  old  soldier 
of  the  great  commander,  had  the  piet}"  to  break  up  a fishing-boat  and 
form  a rude  funeral-jrile.  B}'  these  humble  obsequies  alone  was  the 
aometime  master  of  the  world  honored. 

So  died  Pompey.  He  had  lived  nearly  sixty  years,  and  had  enjoyed 
nore  of  the  world’s  honors  than  almost  any  Roman  before  him.  In 
youth  he  was  cold,  calculating,  and  hard-hearted,  covetous  of  military 
fame,  and  not  slow  to  appropriate  what  belonged  to  others  ; but  his 
affable  manners  and  generosity  in  giving  won  him  general  favor, 
which  was  increased  by  his  early  successes.  His  talents  for  war  were 
really  great,  greater  perhaps  than  any  of  Rome’s  generals  except  Ma- 
rius, as  was  fully  proved  by  his  campaigns  in  the  East.  In  the  war 
with  Caesar,  it  is  plain  that,  so  far  as  military  tactics  went,  Pompey 
was  superior  to  his  great  rival ; and  had  he  not  been  hampered  by 
haughty  and  impatient  colleagues,  the  result  might  have  been  differ- 
vnt.  In  politics  he  was  grasping  and  selfish,  but  irresolute  and  im- 
provident. He  imagined  that  his  military  achievements  gave  him 
a title  to  be  acknowledged  as  the  virtual  sovereign  of  Rome  ; and 
when  neither  senate  nor  people  seemed  willing  to  acquie.sce  in  the 
claim,  he  formed  a coalition  with  politicians  whose  principles  he  dis- 
liked, and  made  himself  responsilile  for  the  acts  of  such  men  as  Clo- 
dius.  Lastly,  when  he  found  that  in  this  coalition  he  was  unable  to 
maintain  his  superiority  over  Ca;sar,  he  joined  the  oligarch}-  who 
hated  him,  and  lost  even  the  glory  which  as  a soldier  he  had  well 
deserved.  In  private  life  he  was  free  from  those  licentious  habits  in 
which  most  persons  of  that  daj-  indulged  without  scruple  or  reproach  ; 
and  the  affection  he  bore  toward  Julia  must  alwaj'S  be  quoted  as  an 
amiable  trait  in  a character  that  has  in  it  little  else  of  attraction.  His 
tragical  death  excited  a commiseration  for  him  which  by  his  life  hf 
hardly  deserved. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ABSOLUTE  RULE  OF  C.ESAR.  (48-44  B.C.) 

Or  the  third  day  after  the  battle  of  Pharsalia,  Ceesar  pursued 
Pompey  by  forced  marches.  He  arrival  at  Amphipolis  just  after  the 
fugitive  had  touched  there.  When  he  reached  the  Hellespont,  he  fell 
Vo  with  a squadron  of  Pompey’s  fleet  under  the  command  of  C.  Oae* 


MFE  OF  JULIUS  CiESAR, 


55 


sius.  Thio  officer,  whose  military  skill  had  been  proved  in  the  Par- 
thian campaign,  might  have  intercepted  Caesar.  But,  whatever  were 
his  motives,  he  surrendered  his  ships  to  Caesar  in  token  of  full  and 
unreserved  submission,  and  was  received  by  the  conqueror  with  the 
same  favor  which  he  had  shown  to  Brutus,  and  to  all  who  had  either 
fallen  into  his  hands  or  yielded  of  free  will.  Caesar  now  immediately 
crossed  the  Hellespont  in  boats  ; and  in  Asia  Minor,  where  he  was 
delayed  at  several  places  by  business,  he  heard  that  Pompey  had  taken 
ship  from  Cyprus,  and  immediatel}''  concluded  that  Egypt  must  be 
uis  destination.  Without  a moment’s  hesitation,  he  sailed  from 
Rhodes  for  this  country,  though  it  was  as  yet  an  independent  king- 
dom, though  he  was  unable  to  carry  with  him  more  than  4000  men, 
and  though  he  incurred  imminent  risk  of  being  intercepted  by  the 
Pompeian  fleet.  As  soon  as  his  arrival  off  Alexandria  was  known, 
Theodotus  came  off,  bearing  Pompey ’s  head  and  ring.  The  con- 
queror accepted  the  ring,  but  turned  with  tears  in  his  eyes  from  the 
ghastly  spectacle  of  the  head,  and  ordered  it  to  be  burned  with  due 
honors.  Over  the  place  of  the  funeral-pyre  he  raised  a shrine  to 
Nemesis,  the  goddess  assigned  by  the  religion  of  the  Greeks  to  be  the 
punisher  of  arrogant  prosperity.  He  then  landed  and  entered' Alex- 
andria with  his  consular  emblems  displayed,  followed  by  his  small 
army.  Immediately  after  his  arrival,  Cleopatra  secretly  resorted  to 
the  capital  city,  and  introduced  herself  in  disguise  into  the  palace 
where  Caesar  had  fixed  his  residence.  The  conqueror,  from  his 
earliest  youth,  had  been  notorious  for  unrestrained  indulgence  in  sen- 
sual pleasures,  and  he  yielded  readily  to  the  blandishments  of  the 
young  and  fascinating  princess.  But  the  ministers  of  the  youthful 
king,  Potheinus  and  Achillas,  had  no  wish  to  lose  their  importance 
by  agreeing  to  a compromise  between  their  master  and  his  imperious 
sister.  The  people  of  Alexandria  were  alarmed  at  Caesar’s  assump- 
tion of  authoritj',  especially  when  he  demanded  payment  of  a debt 
which  he  alleged  was  due  from  the  late  king  to  Rome.  A great 
crowd,  supported  by  Achillas  with  his  army,  assaulted  Caesar  sud- 
denly. His  few  troops  were  oveiinatched,  and  he  escaped  with  diffi- 
culty to  Pharos,  the  quarter  of  the  city  next  the  sea.  In  vain  he  en- 
deavored to  ruin  the  cause  of  Achillas  hy  seizing  the  person  of  young 
Ptolemy.  ArsinoS,  another  daughter  of  the  blood-royal,  was  set  up 
by  the  army  ; and  Caesar  was  completely  blockaded  in  Pharos.  An 
attempt  was  made  to  reduce  him  by  turning  the  sea  into  the  vast 
tanks  constructed  to  supply  that  quarter  of  the  city  with  fresh  water. 
But  by  sinking  pits  in  the  beach,  the  Romans  obtained  a supply  of 
water  sufficient,  though  not  good.  Constant  encounters  took  place 
by  land  and  water  ; and  in  one  of  these  Caesar  was  in  so  much  dan- 
ger, that  he  was  obliged  to  swim  for  his  life  from  a sinking  ship, 
holding  his  coat-of-mail  between  his  teeth,  and  his  note-book  above 
water  in  his  left  hand. 

He  was  shut  up  in  Pharos  about  August,  and  the  blockade  co»- 


56 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


tinued  till  the  winter  was  far  spent.  But  at  the  beginning  of  the  new 
year  he  was  relieved  by  the  arrival  of  considerable  forces.  Achillas 
was  obliged  to  raise  the  siege  of  Pharos,  and  a battle  in  the  open  field 
resulted  in  a signal  triumph  to  Caesar.  Vast  numbers  of  the  fugi- 
tives were  drowned  in  attempting  to  cross  the  Nile  : among  them  the 
young  king  himself.  Caesar  now  formally  installed  Cleopatra  as  sov- 
ereign of  Egypt,  and  reserved  ArsinoS  to  grace  his  triumph. 

During  the  half  year  that  followed  Pharsalia,  the  Pompeian  chiefs 
3ad  in  some  measure  recovered  from  their  first  consternation.  Cnaeus, 
;he  eldest,  son  of  the  great  Pompey,  had  joined  Cato  at  Corcyra  •, 
und  in  this  place  also  were  assembled  Cicero,  Labienus,  Afranius, 
and  others.  The  chief  command  was  offered  to  Cicero,  as  the  oldest 
consular.  But  the  orator  declined  a dangerous  post,  for  which  he  had 
neither  aptitude  nor  inclination,  and  was  nearly  slain  upon  the  spot 
by  the  impetuous  Cnteus.  Scipio  soon  after  arrived,  and  to  him  the 
command  was  given.  C.  Cassius,  with  the  greater  portion  of  the 
fleet,  had  surprised  and  destroyed  a number  of  Caesar's  ships  in 
Sicily,  and  was  proceeding  to  make  descents  upon  the  coast  of  Italy 
wlien  the  news  of  the  great  defeat  at  Pharsalia  reached  him.  He 
immediately  sailed  for  the  East,  and  fell  in  with  Caesar  (as  we  have 
narrated)  on  the  Hellespont.  His  defection  was  a heavy  blow  to  the 
hopes  of  the  Pompeian  party. 

Still,  notwithstanding  Pompey’s  disappearance  and  the  defection 
of  Cassius,  a considerable  fleet  was  assembled  at  CorcjTa.  Scipio 
and  the  rest  embarked  with  the  troops  that  thej’  had  rallied,  and 
steered  for  Egypt,  in  the  hope  of  learning  news  of  their  chief.  Thej' 
reached  the  coast  of  Africa,  and  were  steering  eastward  along  the 
coast,  when  they  fell  in  with  Pompey’s  ships,  in  which  were  Cornelia 
and  young  Sextus,  with  their  friends,  full  of  the  tragic  scene  they 
had  just  witnessed  on  the  beach  of  Alexandria.  The  disheartened 
leaders  returned  to  Cyrene,  which  refused  to  admit  anj’  one  within  its 
walls  except  Cato  and  such  men  as  he  would  be  answerable  for. 
The  fleet,  therefore,  with  Scipio,  Labienus,  and  tbe  gi-eater  part  of 
the  troops,  pursued  its  course  across  the  great  gulf  of  the  Syrtes  to 
the  province  of  Africa,  where  the  Pompeian  cause  was  upheld  by 
Varus  and  his  ally  Juba.  Cato  and  his  followers  were  left  to  follow 
l)y  land.  He  accomplished  an  arduous  march  across  the  desert  in 
safety,  and  by  the  beginning  of  the  next  year  all  the  Pompeian  lead- 
grs  were  assembled  in  the  province  of  Africa.  Dissensions  arose  be- 
iWeen  Varus  and  Scipio  for  the  command  ; to  compromise  the  mat- 
ter it  was  offered  to  Cato.  The  disinterested  philosopher  declined  it, 
on  the  plea  that  he  held  no  official  position,  and  persuaded  all  the  rest 
to  acquiesce  in  the  appointment  of  Scipio.  It  was  then  proposed  to 
destroy  the  city  of  Utica,  as  being  favorable  to  Ctesar.  But  Cato,  with 
rare  humanity,  offered  to  assume  the  government  of  the  town,  and 
he  responsible  for  its  fidelity,  thus  finally  separating  himself  from  the 
getive  warfare,  which  from  the  first  he  had  depi<**ated  and  disavowed. 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


57 


In  other  parts  of  the  empire  also,  affairs  were  in  a disquiet  state. 
Pharuaces,  son  of  Mithridates,  was  daily  gathering  strength  in 
Pontus.  In  Farther  Spain,  the  oppressive  rule  of  Q.  Cassius,  brother 
of  Caius,  had  excited  a mutiny  in  the  army,  and  discontent  every- 
where. In  Illyricum,  Gabinius,  who  had  deserted  his  patron  Pom- 
peyon  occasion  of  the  flight  from  Italy,  had  been  ignominiously  worst- 
ed by  the  Pompeian  leader,  M.  Octavius,  and  had  died  at  Salona. 
In  Italjq  P.  Cornelius  Dolabella,  elected  tribune,  had  renewed  the 
propositions  of  Caelius  and  Milo  to  abolish  all  debts  ; and  two  legions 
stationed  at  Capua,  one  of  which  was  the  favored  Tenth,  had  risen 
in  open  mutiny  against  their  oflicers,  declaring  that  they  had  been 
kept  under  their  standards  long  enough,  and  demanding  their 
promised  reward. 

We  know  not  when  the  news  of  these  threatening  events  reached 
Caesar’s  ears  at  Alexandria.  Early  in  the  year47B.c.  he  had  been 
proclaimed  dictator  for  the  second  time,  and  had  named  Mark  An- 
tony master  of  the  horse.  This  officer  was  intrusted  with  the  gov- 
ernment of  Italy.  But  the  peninsula  seemed  to  be  exposed  by 
mutiny  and  discontent  to  a descent  of  the  Pompeians  from  Africa, 
and  the  presence  of  the  dictator  himself  seemed  to  be  Imperiously 
demanded.  Still  he  lingered  in  Egypt,  detained  (as  his  enemies  saj") 
by  the  blandishments  of  Cleopatra,  or  (as  his  admirers  contend)  by 
the  necessity  of  confirming  Roman  influence  in  that  country.  It  was 
not  for  the  space  of  four  months  after  hiS  victory  on  the  Nile  (hat  he 
left  Egypt,  having  remained  there  altogether  for  not  less  than  three 
quarters  of  a year. 

But  when  once  he  had  shaken  off  this  real  or  apparent  lethargy, 
all  his  startling  rapidity  of  action  returned.  He  left  Egypt  at  the 
end  of  May  (47  b.c.),  and  marched  northward  through  Syria  to  crush 
the  rising  power  of  Pharnaces.  On  his  way  he  received  the  hearty 
congratulations  of  the  Jews,  who  hated  the  memory  of  Pompey  ; 
accepted  the  excuses  of  Deiotarus,  chief  of  Galatia,  who  had  fought 
against  him  at  Pharsalia  ; and  in  a few  days  appeared  in  Pontus. 
Pharnaces,  proud  of  a victory  over  Caesar’s  lieutenant,  ventured  tc 
attack  Caesar  himself  near  Zela,  where  his  father  Mithridates  had 
once  defeated  the  Romans.  The  victory  gained  by  the  Romans  was 
easy  but  decisive  ; and  was  announced  at  Rome  in  the  famous  dis' 
patch,  “ Veni,  vidi,  vici.  ”*  The  kingdom  of  Bosphorus  was  con- 
ferred on  a friendly  chief,  bearing  the  name  of  Mithridates.  Caesar 
now  devoted  a short  time  to  the  task  of  settling  the  affairs  of  Asia. 
This  province  had  been  warmly  attached  to  the  senatorial  cause  by 
the  mild  rule  of  Lucullus  and  Pompey.  Lately,  however,  th«  exac- 
tions of  Metellus  Scipio,  on  his  march  to  join  Pompey  in  Epirus,  had 


* This  inseription  was  csrtainly  placed  upon  the  spoils  taken  from  the  Pontia 
king  when  earned  in  triumphal  proceesioo  ; mrd  Plutarch  r^esento  it  as  forming 
the  dictator’s  dispatch.  _ 


58 


LIFE  OF  JULIL&  v.^SAR. 


caused  great  discontent ; and  Csesar  found  it  easy  to  n.in  popularity 
by  remitting  a portion  of  the  moneys  due  to  the  imperial  treasury. 

Before  this,  also,  Octavius  had  been  expelled  from  Ilij'ria.  Vati- 
nius,  who  was  in  command  at  Brundusium,  hearing  of  the  defeat  and 
death  of  Gabinius,  immediately  crossed  the  Adriatic,  and  attacked  the 
fleet  of  Octavius  with  so  much  success  that  the  Pompeian  leader  was 
glad  to  make  his  escape  and  join  his  fellows  in  misfortune  in  Africa 

Two  months  after  Casar  left  Alexandria,  all  parts  of  the  Eas 
Tvere  again  restored  to  tranquil  submission  ; and  early  in  July  Kom; 
was  astonished  to  see  the  great  conqueror  enter  her  gates  for  the  thirc 
time  since  lie  had  crossed  the  Rubicon. 

He  had  been  again  named  dictator,  as  we  have  said  ; ana,  on  his 
arrival  at  Rome,  he  applied  himself  with  his  usual  industiy"  and 
rapidity  to  settle  the  most  pressing  difiiculties.  Tlie  disturbances 
raised  by  the  profligate  promises  of  Cadius  and  Dolabella  had  been 
quelled  by  Antony  ; and  the  dictator  in  some  degree  gratified  those 
who  had  clamored  for  an  abolition  of  debts  by  paying  a year’s  house- 
rent  for  all  poor  citizens  out  of  the  public  purse — an  evil  precedent, 
which  in  the  present  emergency  he  deemed  necessary. 

The  mutiny  of  the  soldiers  at  Capua  was  more  formidable.  But 
Caesar,  as  was  his  wont,  overcame  the  danger  by  facing  it  boldly. 
He  ordered  the  two  legions  to  meet  him  in  the  Campus  ilartius  un- 
armed. They  had  demanded  their  discharge,  thinking  that  thus  thej' 
would  extort  a large  donation,  for  they  considered  themselves  indis- 
pensable to  the  dictator.  He  ascended  the  tribunal,  and  they  ex- 
pected a speech.  “You  demand  your  discdiarge,”  he  simplj'  said, 
“I  discharge  you.”  A dead  silence  followed  these  unexpected 
words.  Caesar  resumed  : “ The  rewards  which  I have  promis.-d  you 
shall  have,  when  I return  to  celebrate  my  triumph  with  my  other 
troops.”  Shame  now  filled  their  hearts,  mingled  with  vexation  at 
the  thought  that  they  who  had  borne  all  the  heat  and  burden  of  the 
day  would  be  excluded  from  the  triumph.  They  passionately  be- 
sought-him  to  recall  his  words,  but  he  answered  not.  At  length,  at 
the  earnest  entreaty  of  his  friends,  he  again  rose  to  speak.  ■'  Quiri- 
tes” — he  began,  as  if  they  were  no  longer  soldiers,  but  merelj'  private 
citizens.  A burst  of  repentant  sorrow  broke  from  the  ranks  of  ihc 
veterans  ; but  Ctesar  turned  awa3"  as  if  he  were  about  to  leave  tli< 
tribunal.  The  cries  rose  still  louder : the}'  besought  him  to  puni?': 
them  in  any  wajq  but  not  to  dismiss  them  from  his  service.  Aftc; 
\^!ong  delay,,  he  said  that  “he  would  not  punish  any  one  for  de- 
manding his  due  ; but  that  he  could  not  conceal  his  vexation  that 
the  Tenth  Legion  could  not  bide  his  time.  That  legion  at  least 
he  must  dismiss.”  Loud  applause  followed  from  the  rest;  the 
men  of  the  Tenth  hung  their  heads  in  shame,  and  begged  him  to  dec 
imate  them,  and  restore  the  survivors  to  his  favor.  At  length,  Ctesar, 
deeming  them  sufficiently  humbled,  accepted  their  repentance.  The 
whole  scene  is  a striking  illusti’«ktion  of  the  cod  and  dauntless 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


59 


resolution  of  the  man. 
maud. 


We  at  once  say,  here  was  one  born  for  com- 


Having  completed  all  pressing  business  in  little  more  than  twc 
months,  he  again  left  Eome  to  take  measures  for  reducing  the  for- 
midable force  which  the  Pompeian  leaders  had  assembled  in  Africa. 
At  Lilybaeum  six  legions  and  2000  horse  had  been  collected  ; and 
about  the  middle  of  October  (47  b.c.)  he  reached  Africa.  An  inde- 
cisive combat  took  place  soon  after  he  landed,  and  then  he  lay  en 
camped  waiting  for  reinforcements  till  near  the  beginning  of  Decern 
her.  When  he  took  the  field,  a series  of  manceuvres  followed  ; till, 
Dll  the  4th  of  February  (46  b.c.),  he  encamped  near  Thapsus,  and  twc 
days  after  fought  the  battle  which  decided  the  fate  of  the  campaign. 
After  a long  and  desperate  conflict,  which  lasted  till  evening,  the 
senatorial  army  was  forced  to  give  way  ; and  Ciesar,  who  always 
pressed  an  advantage  to  the  utmost,  followed  them  so  closely  that 
they  could  not  defend  their  camp.  The  leaders  fled  in  all  directions. 
Varus  and  Labienus  escaped  into  Spain.  Scipio  put  to  sea,  but  be 
iug  overtaken  by  the  enemy’s  ships  sought  death  by  his  own  hands. 
Such  also  was  the  fate  of  Afranius.  Juba  fled  with  old  Petreius  ; 
and  these  two  rude  soldiers,  after  a last  banquet,  heated  with  wine, 
agreed  to  end  their  life  by  single  combat.  The  Roman  veteran  was 
slain  by^  the  nimble  African  prince,  and  Juba  sought  death  at  the 


hand  of  a faithful  slave. 

Meanwhile,  Cato  at  U|icahad  received  news  of  the  ruin  of  his  party 
by  the  battle  of  Thapsus.  He  calmly  resolved  on  self-slaughter,  and 
discussed  the  subject  both  in  conversation  with  his  friends  and  in 
meditation  with  himself.  After  a conversation  of  this  kind  he  retired 
to  rest,  aud  for  a moment  forgot  his  philosophic  calm  when  he  saw 
that  his  too  careful  friends  had  removed  his  sword.  Wrathfiilly  re- 
proving them,  he  ordered  it  to  be  brought  back  and  hung  at  his  bed’s 
head.  There  he  lay  down,  and  turned  over  the  pages  of  Plato’s 
Phsedo  till  he  fell  asleep.  In  the  night  ho  awoke,  and  taking  his 
sword  from  the  sheath  he  thrust  it  into  his  body.  His  watchful 
friends  heard  him  utter  an  involuntary  groau,  and,  entering  the  room, 
found  him  writhing  in  agony.  They  procured  surgical  aid,  and  the 
wound  was  carefully  dressed.  Cato  lay  down  again,  apparently 
insensible  ; but,  as  soon  as  he  was  left  alone,  he  quietly  removed  the 
dressings  and  tore  open  the  Wound,  so  that  his  bowels  broke  out,  and 
after  no  long  time  he  breathed  his  last.  The  Romans,  one  and  all, 
even  Cicero,  admired  and  applauded  his  conduct.  It  is  true  that  the 
Stoics,  though  on  principles  different  from  Christianity,  recommended 
the  endurance  of  all  evils  as  indifferent  to  a philosopher.  But  life 
had  become  intolerable  to  one  who  held  the  political  opinions  of 
Cato  ; and  while  Christian  judgment  must  condemn  his  impatience, 
it  must  be  confessed  that  from  his  own  point  of  view  the  act  was  at 
least  excusable. 

After  this  miserable  end  of  the  most  upright  and  most  eminart 


60 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


among  the  senatorial  chiefs,  Caesar  busied  himself  in  regulating  the 
countries  he  had  conquered.  Juba’s  kingdom  of  Xumidia  he 
formed  into  a new  province,  and  gave  it  into  the  care  of  the  historian 
Sallust,  who  with  others  had  been  expelled  from  the  senate  in  the 
year  50  b.c.,  professedly  because  of  his  profligate  manners,  but  really 
because  of  his  devoted  attachment  to  Caesar’s  cause.  His  subsequent 
life  justified  both  the  real  and  the  alleged  cause.  He  pro  veil  an 
oppressive  ruler,  and  his  luxurious  habits  rvere  conspicuous  even  in 
that  age.  In  the  terse  and  epigrammatic  sentences  of  his  two  im- 
mortal works  were  immortalized  the  merits  of  Marius  and  of  Caesar 
the  vices  and  errors  of  their  senatorial  antagonists. 

After  some  delay  in  Sardinia,  where  his  presence  also  was  required, 
Caesar  returned  to  Rome  for  the  fourth  time  since  the  civil  war 
broke  out,  about  the  end  of  May,  46  b.c.  At  length  he  had  found 
time  to  celebrate  the  triumphs  which  he  had  earned  since  his  first 
consulship,  and  to  devote  his  attention  to  those  internal  reforms, 
w'hich  long  years  of  faction  and  anarchj’^  had  made  necessary. 

Ills  triumphs  were  four  in  number,  over  Gaul,  Egypt,  Pontus,  and 
Numidia  ; for  no  mention  was  made  of  the  civil  conflicts,  which  had 
been  most  dangerous  and  most  difficult  of  all.  A Roman  could  not 
triumph  over  fellow  citizens  ; therefore  the  victories  of  Ilerda  and 
Pharsalia  were  not  celebrated  by  public  honors  ; nor  would  Thapsus 
have  been  mentioned  had  it  not  been  observed  that  here  Juba  was 
among  the  foes.  These  triumphs  were  made  more  attractive  1)3' 
splendid  gladiatorial  shows  and  combats  6f  wild  beasts.  But  what 
gave  much  more  real  splendor  was  the  announcement  of  a gen- 
eral amnesty  for  all  political  offences  committed  against  the  party  of 
the  dictator.  The  memoiy  of  the  Marian  massacres  and  the  Syllan 
proscriptions  were  still  present  to  maiy  minds.  Domitius  Ahenobar- 
bus  and  the  chief  senatorial  leaders  had  denounced  all  who  took  part 
against  the  senate,  or  even  those  w’ho  remained  neutral,  with  the 
severest  penalties.  Men  could  not  believe  that  the  dictator's  clemency 
was  real  ; they  could  not  rid  themselves  of  the  belief  that  when  all 
fear  of  the  eneni}'  had  ceased  he  would  glut  his  vengeance  by  a 
hecatomb.  The  certaint}'  that  no  more  blood  would  flow  was  so 
much  the  moie  grateful. 

After  the  triumphs  all  his  soldiers  were  gratified  by  a magnificent 
donation  ; nay,  ever3'  poor  citizen  received  a present  both  of  grain  and 
money. 

The  veterans  now  at  length  received  their  rewards  in  lands,  which 
were  either  public  propert}’  or  were  duh'  purchased  with  public  money. 
But  no  Julian  militaiT  colonies  were  planted  on  lands  wrested  b}-  force 
from  citizens,  to  emulate  the  Cornelian  militar}'  colonies  and  main- 
tain a population  of  turbulent  agitators.  Here  also  the  example  of 
S3dla,  who  confiscated  private  propert}'  to  reward  his  troops,  was 
earefully  avoided. 

. After  the  triumphs  every  kind  of  honor  was  bestowed  upon  him. 


LIFE  OF  J tiijiuo  v;^SAB. 


61 


Above  all,  be  was  named  dictator  for  the  third  time  , but  now  it 
was  for  a space  of  ten  years.  He  was  also  invested  with  censorial 
authority  for  three  years  ; and  in  virtue  of  these  combined  offices  he 
was  declared  absolute  master  of  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  all  the  cit 
izens  and  subjects  of  Rome.  For  several  months  he  remained  at 
Rome  busily  occupied  in  measures  intended  to  remedy  the  evil  effects 
of  the  long-continued  civil  discords  and  to  secure  order  for  the 
future.  But  in  the  middle  of  his  work  he  was  compelled  to  quit 
Rome  by  the  call  of  another  war.  It  will  be  well  to  dispose  of  this 
before  we  give  a brief  summary  of  his  great  legislative  measures. 

Spain  was  the  province  that  required  his  presence.  There  the  twc 
sons  of  Pompey,  with  Labienus  and  Varus,  had  rallied  the  scanty 
relics  of  the  African  army.  The  province  was  already  in  a state  of 
revolt  against  Ctesar.  Q.  Cassius — whom  he  had  left  as  governor- 
had  so  irritated  all  minds,  that  even  the  legions  rose,  mutinied,  and 
expelled  the  CtEsariau  commanders.  Bocchus,  King  of  Mauritania, 
lent  aid,  and  thus  the  malcontents  in  Spain  were  able  to  present  a 
formidable  front.  CiE.3ar  arrived  in  Spain  late  in  September  (46  b.c.), 
after  a Journey  of  extraordinary  rapidity,  and  found  that  young  Cu. 
Pompeius  had  concentrated  his  forces  near  Corduba  (Cordova).  But 
an  attack-of  illness  compelled  the  dictator  to  delay  operations,  and  it 
was  not  till  the  first  month  of  the  next  year  that  he  was  able  to  take 
the  field.  He  then  began  offensive  measures  with  his  usual  rapidity. 
He  was  extremely  anxious  to  force  the  enemy  to  a battle,  but  this 
they  cautiously  declined,  till  several  strong  towns  being  taken  by 
storm  and  others  having  surrendered,  the  Pompeians  found  them- 
selves obliged  to  retreat  toward  the  coast  of  the  Mediterranean. 
Here  Caesar  found  them  in  a strong  position  near  Munda,  a small 
town  about  five  and  twenty  miles  west  of  Malaga,  and  as  they  offered 
him  battle,  he  determined  on  attacking,  notwithstanding  the  difficul- 
ties of  the  ground.  Success  was  for  some  time  doubtful.  But 
Caesar  exerted  himself  to  lead  his  troops  again  and  again  to  the  des- 
perate conflict,  and  their  dauntless  courage  at  length  prevailed.  So 
desperate  was  it  that  Caesar  is  reported  to  have  said,  “ On  other  oc 
casions  I have  fought  for  victory,  here  I fought  for  life.”  But  the 
battle  of  Munda  was  decisive.  More  than  30,000  men  fell.  Among 
them  were  Varus  and  Labienus,  whose  heads  were  brought  to  Caesai 
as  tokens  of  tlieir  fate.  Cn.  Pompeius  fled  to  the  coast.  Here  as  he 
was  getting  on  board  a small  boat  he  entangled  his  foot  in  a rope  ; 
and  a friend  endeavoring  to  cut  away  the  rope  struck  the  foot  in 
stead.  The  unfortunate  young  man  landed  again,  hoping  to  lie  hid 
till  his  wound  was  healed.  Finding  his  lurking-place  discovered,  he 
limped  wearily  up  a mountain-path,  but  was  soon  overtaken  and 
slain.  His  head  also  was  carried  to  the  conqueror,  who  ordered  it  to 
receive  honorable  burial.  Sext.  Pompeius  escaped  into  Northern 
Spain,  whence  he  reappeared  at  a later  time  to  vex  the  peace  of  the 
wman  world.  Corduba,  Hispalis  (Seville),  and  other  places  garri- 


LWE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


tf2 

»oned  by  tlie  last  desperate  relics  of  the  Pompeian  party,  held  out  for 
some  time  after  the  battle  of  Munda.  So  important  did  Caesar  con- 
sider it  to  quench  the  last  spark  of  disaffection  in  a province  'which 
for  several  years  had  been  under  Pompey’s  government  that  he 
stayed  in  Spain  till  August,  and  did  not  return  to  Rome  till  Septem- 
ber or  October  (45  B.C.),  having  been  absent  from  the  capital  nearly 
a year.  On  this  occasion  he  was  less  scrupulous  than  before,  for  he 
celebrated  a fifth  triumph  in  honor  of  his  successes  in  Spain,  though 
these  were  as  much  won  over  Roman  citizens  as  his  former  victories 
in  that  same  country,  or  his  crowning  glory  of  Pharsalia. 

From  his  last  triumph  to  his  death  was  somewhat  more  than  five 
months  (October,  45  b.c. — March,  44  b.c.)  : from  his  quadruple  tri- 
umph to  the  Spanish  campaign  was  little  more  than  four  months 
(June — September,  46  b.c.).  Into  these  two  brief  periods  were  com- 
pressed most  of  the  laws  which  bear  his  name,  and  of  which  we  will 
now  give  a brhif  account.  Most  of  the  e\ils,  however,  which  he  en- 
deavored to  remedy  were  of  old  standing.  His  long  residence  at 
Rome,  and  busy  engagements  in  all  political  matters  from  early  5muth 
to  the  close  of  his  consulship,  made  him  familiar  with  everj'  sore 
place,  and  with  all  the  proposed  remedies.  His  own  clear  judgment, 
his  habits  of  rapid  decision,  and  the  unlimited  po'wer  wliich  he  held 
in  virtue  of  the  dictatorship,  made  it  easier  for  him  to  legislate  than 
for  others  to  advise. 

The  long  wars,  and  the  liberality  ■with  which  he  had  rewarded  his 
soldiers  and  the  people  at  his  triumphs,  had  reduced  the  sums  in  the 
treasury  to  a low'  ebb.  We  may  believe  that  no  needs  were  more 
pressing  than  these. 

Together  with  the  dictatorship  he  had  been  invested  with  censorial 
power  under  the  new  title  of  praefectus  morum.  He  used  this  power 
to  institute  a careful  revision  of  the  list  of  citizens,  principall}'  for  the 
purpose  of  abridging  the  list  of  those  who  were  receiving  monthly 
donations  of  grain  from  the  treasuri'.  Numbers  of  foreigners  had 
been  irregularly  placed  on  the  lists,  and  so  great  had  been  the  temp- 
tations held  out  by  the  pernicious  poor-law  originally  passed  b}’  C. 
Gracchus,  and  made  still  worse  by  Saturninus  and  Clodius,  that  he 
w’as  able  to  reduce  the  list  of  state-paupers  resident  in  or  near  Rome 
from  320,000  to  about  half  that  number.  The  treasury  felt  an  im- 
'luediate  and  a permanent  relief. 

But  though,  for  this  purpose,  Caesar  made  severe  distinctions  b«* 
'itveen  Roman  citizens  and  those  subjects  of  the  republic  who  were 
not  admitted  to  the  franchise,  no  ruler  ever  showed  himself  so  much 
alive  to  the  claims  of  all  classes  of  her  subjects.  Other  popular  lead- 
ers had  advocated  the  cause  of  the  Italians,  and  all  free  people  of  the 
Peninsula  had  for  the  last  thirty  j'ears  been  made  Romans  ; but  ex- 
cept the  measure  of  Pompeius  Strabo,  b\’  which  the  free  people  of 
Transpadane  Gaul — w'ho  were  almost  Italians — had  been  invested 
with  the  Latin  rights,  no  popular  statesman  had  ae  vet  shown  any  in- 


LI:FE  of  JULltTS  C.«SAK. 


63 


te/«st  fj  the  claims  of  the  provincial  subjects  of  Eome.  Sertorius,  in- 
deed, iiacl  endeavored  to  raise  a Roman  government  in  Spain  ; but 
this  was  forced  upon  him  by  the  necessity  of  the  case,  and  was  a 
'^ran  fereuce  of  power  from  Italians  to  Spaniards,  rather  than  an  in- 
lorporation  of  Spain  with  Italy.  Caesar  was  the  first  acknowledged 
mler  cf  the  Roman  State  who  extended  his  views  beyond  the  politics 
of  the  dty  and  took  a really  imperial  survey  of  the  vast  dominions 
subject  to  her  sway.  Toward  those  who  were  at  war  with  Rome  he 
1 was  relentless  and  illiberal  as  the  sternest  Roman  of  them  all  ; but  no 
me  so  well  as  he  knew  how  " to  spare  the  submissive  hardly  any 
)ne  except  himself  felt  pleasure  in  so  sparing.  All  the  cities  of 
Transpadane  Gaul,  already  Latin,  were  raised  to  the  Roman  fran- 
chise. The  same  high  privilege  was  bestowed  on  many  communities 
of  Transalpine  Gaul  and  Spain.  The  Gallic  legion  which  he  had 
raised,  called  Aulada  from  the  lark  which  was  the  emblem  on  their 
arms,  was  rewarded  for  its  services  by  the  same  gift.  Medical  prac- 
titioners and  scientific  men,  of  whatever  origin,  were  to  be  allowed 
to  claim  the  Roman  franchise.  After  his  death  a plan  was  found 
among  his  papers  for  raising  the  Sicilian  communities  to  the  rank  of 
Latin  citizens — a design  which  seems  to  prove  that  a truly  imperial 
idea  gave  character  to  his  whole  government. 

Nothing  proved  this  more  than  the  unfulfilled  projects  of  the  great 
dictator,  which  were  afterward  completed.  Among  these  were  the 
draining  of  the  Pontine  marshes,  the  opening  of  lakes  Lucrinus  and 
Avernus  to  form  a harbor,  a complete  survey  and  map  of  the  whole 
empire — plans  afterward  executed  by  Agrippa,  the  great  minister  of 
Augustus.  Another  and  more  memorable  design  was  that  of  a code 
of  laws  embodying  and  organizing  the  scattered  judgments  and  pre- 
cedents which  at  that  time  regulated  the  courts.  It  was  sevewd  cen- 
turies before  this  great  work  was  accomplished,  by  which  Roman  law 
became  the  law  of  civilized  Europe. 

The  liberal  tendency  of  the  dictator’s  mind  was  shown  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  supplied  the  great  gaps  which  the  civil  war  had 
made  in  the  benches  of  the  senate.  Of  late  years  the  number  of  that 
assembly  had  been  increased  from  its  original  three  hundred.  We 
find  so  many  as  four  hundred  and  fifteen  taking  part  in  its  votes  ;* 
and  many  of  course  were  absent.  But  Caesar  raised  it  to  no  kss  than 
nine  hundred,  thus  probably  doubling  the  largest  number  that  had 
ever  been  counted  in  its  ranks.  Many'  of  the  new  senators  were  for- 
tunate soldiers  who  had  served  him  well.  In  raising  such  men  to 
senatorial  rank  he  followed  the  example  of  Sylla.  But  .many  of  the 
new  nobles  were  enfranchised  citizens  of  the  towns  of  Cisalpine  Gaul. 
The  old  citizens  were  indignant  at  this  invasion  of  the  barbarians 
Pasquinades,  rife  in  ancient  as  in  modern  Rome,  abounded.  “ The 
Gauls,”  said  one  wit,  “ had  exchanged  the  trews  for  the  toga,  and 


* Cicero  ad  AU.  i.  14,  6. 


64 


LIFE  OF  JL'LIUS  CJESAR. 


nad  followed  the  conqueror’s  triumphal  car  into  the  senate.”  ‘‘It 
were  a good  deed,”  said  another,  “if  no  one  would  show  the  new 
senators  the  way  to  the  house.” 

Tire  offices  of  consul,  praetor,  and  other  high  magistracies,  however, 
were  still  conferred  on  men  of  Italian  birth.  The  first  foreigner  who 
reached  the  consulship  was  L.  Cornelius  Balbus,  a Spaniard  of  Gades, 
the  friend  of  Caesar  and  of  Cicero  ; hut  this  was  not  till  four  years 
after  the  dictator’s  death,  when  the  principles  of  his  government  were 
more  fully  carried  out  by  his  successors. 

To  revive  a military  population  in  Italy  was  not  so  much  the  ob- 
ject of  Caesar  as  that  of  former  leaders  of  the  people.  His  veteians 
received  comparatively  few  assignments  of  land  in  Hah'.  Only  six 
small  colonies  in  the  neighborhood  of  Rome  were  peopled  by  these 
men.  The  principal  settlements  by  which  he  enriched  them  were  in 
the  provinces.  Corinth  and  Carthage  were  made  militar3'  colonies, 
and  rapidly  regained  somewhat  of  their  ancient  splendor  and  renown. 

He  endeavored  to  restore  the  wasted  population  of  Italj'  by  more 
peaceful  methods  than  niilitarj'  settlements.  The  marriage-tie  which 
had  become  exceediugl}'  lax  in  the.se  proffigde  times  was  encouraged 
by  somewhat  singular  means.  A married  matron  was  allowed  a 
greater  latitude  of  ornament  and  the  use  of  more  costly  carriages  than 
the  sumptuary  laws  of  Rome  permitted  to  women  generallj'.  A 
married  man  with  three  children  born  in  lawful  wedlock  at  Rome, 
with  four  born  in  Italy,  with  five  born  in  the  provinces,  enjoj'ed 
freedom  from  certain  duties  and  charges. 

The  great  abuse  of  slave-labor  was  difficult  to  correct.  It  was 
attempted  to  applj'  remedies  familiar  to  despotic  governments  in  all 
aaces.  An  ordinance  was  issued  that  no  citizens  between  twentj’  and 
fort}'  years  of  age  should  be  ab.sent  from  Italy  for  more  than  three 
years.  And  an  ancient  enactment  was  revived  that  on  all  estates  at 
least  one  third  of  the  laborers  should  be  freemen.  Xo  doubt  these 
measures  were  of  little  effect. 

Caesar’s  great  designs  for  the  improvement  of  the  city  were  shown 
by  several  facts.  Under  his  patronage  the  first  public  library  was 
opened  at  Rome  by  his  friend  C.  AsiniusPollio,  famous  as  a poet,  anil 
in  later  years  as  the  historian  of  the  civil  war.  For  the  transaction  of 
public  business,  he  erected  the  magnificent  series  of  buildings  called 
the  Basilica  Julia,  of  which  we  will  say  a few  words  in  a later  page. 

Of  all  his  reforms,  that  by  which  his  name  is  best  remembered  is 
the  reform  of  the  calendar.  The  Roman  year  had  hitherto  consi.sted 
)f  355  days,  with  a month  of  30  days  intercalated  every  third  year, 
30  that  the'average  length  of  the  year  was  365  days.  If  the  intercala- 
tions had  been  regulaily  made,  the  Romans  would  have  lost  a day’s 
reckoning  in  every  period  of  four  years  : since  the  real  length  of  the 
solar  year  is  about  365  J days.  But  the  business  was  so  carelessly 
executed,  that  the  difference  bet  wecu  the  civil  year  and  the  solar  year 
sometimes  amounted  to  several  mouths,  and  aU  dates  were  most 
uncertain 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


65 


Caesar,  himself  not  unacquainted  with  astronomy,  called  in  the 
assistance  of  the  Greek  sosigenes  to  rectify  the  present  error,  and 
prevent  error  for  the  future.  It  was  determined  to  make  the  1st  of 
January  of  the  Roman  year  709  a.u.c.  coincide  with  the  1st  of  Jan- 
uary of  the  solar  year  which  we  call  45  b.c.  But  it  was  calculated 
that  this  1st  of  January  of  the  year  709  a.u.c.  would  he  07  days  in 
advance  of  the  true  time  ; or,  in  other  words,  would  concur  not  with 
the  1st  of  January  45  b.c.,  but  with  the  22d  of  October  46  b.c.  And 
therefore  two  intercalary  months,  making  together  07  days,  were 
inserted  between  tire  last  day  of  November  and  the  1st  of  December 
of  the  year  708.  An  intercalary  month  of  23  days  * had  already'  been 
added  to  February  of  that  year,  according  to  the  old  method.  There- 
fore, on  the  whole,  the  Roman  year  708  consisted  in  all  of  the  prodi- 
gious number  of  445  da3’’s.’+  It  was  scotBugly  called  in  the  pasquinades 
“ the  year  of  confusion.”  More  justlj'  should  it  be  called,  as  Macro- 
hius  ohserv'es,  ” the  last  year  of  confusion.” 

Thus  the  past  error  was  corrected,  and  the  1st  of  January  709  a.u.c. 
became  the  same  with  tlie  1st  of  January  45  b.c. 

To  prevent  future  errors,  the  year  was  extended  from  355  to  365 
days,  eadi  mouth  being  lengthened,  except  February,  according  to 
the  rule  which  we  still  observe.  But  as  the  solar  year  consists  of 
about  365  i days,  it  is  manifest  that  it  was  necessary  to  add  one  day 
in  every  ft  ur  years,  and  this  was  done  at  the  end  of  February,  as  at 
present  in  uur  leap  year. 

Such  was  the  famous  Julian  Calendar,  which,  with  a slight  altera- 
tion, continues  to  date  ever}'  transaction  and  every  letter  of  the 
present  day. I 

The  constant  occupation  required  for  these  and  other  measures  of 
reform,  all  executed  in  the  space  of  nine  or  ten  mouths,  necessarily 
absorbed  the  chief  part  of  the  dictator’s  day,  and  prevented  the  free 
access  which  at  Rome  was  usually  accorded  to  suitors  and  visitors  by 
the  consuls  an.l  great  men.  Csesar  himself  lamented  this.  The  true 
reason  for  his  aeclusion  was  not  understood,  and  the  fact  diminished 
his  popularity.  Yet  his  affability  was  the  same  as  ever,  and  a letter 
of  Cicero,  in  which  he  describes  a visit  he  received  from  the  great 


* Called  3Ierced(/nius.  t I.e.,  355  J-  23  67=445. 

t The  addition  o.f  one  day  in  every  four  years  would  be  correct  if  the  eolar  year 
consisted  exactly  of  365  K days,  or  365  days  6 hours.  In  fact,  it  consists  of  365 
days,  5 hours,  48  minutes,  51  >4  seconds,  so  that  the  Julian  year  is  longer  than  the 
aue  solar  year  by  about  11  minutes.  Caesar’s  astronomers  knew  this  error,  bnt 
leglected  It.  Accordingly  in  the  year  15S2  a.d.  the  begiuuiiig  of  the  Julian  year 
was  about  13  days  behind  the  true  time.  Pope  Gregory  XIII.  shortened  that  year 
by  10  days,  still  leaving  the  year  3 days  behind  the  true  time ; and  to  prevent  error 
for  the  future,  ordered  the  additional  day  of  February  to  be  omitted  three  times  in 
400  years.  Protestant  England  refused  to  adopt  this  reform  till  the  year  1752  a.d., 
when  11  days  were  dropped  between  the  2d  and  14th  of  September,  which  gave 
rise  to  the  vulgar  cry, — “ Give  us  back  our  11  days.”  Russia,  through  the  jealousy 
of  the  Greek  Church,  still  keeps  the  old  style,  and  her  reckoning  is  now  12  days 
behind  that  of  the  test  of  Burope. 


66 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


conqueror  ia  his  villa  at  Puteoli,  leaves  a pleasing  impression  of  both 
host  and  guest.  Cicero  indeed  had  fully  bowed  to  circumstances.  lie 
spoke  in  defence  of  the  Pompeian  partisans,  M.  Marcellus  and  Q. 
Ligarius,  and  introduced  into  his  speeches  compliments  to  Car.-ar  too 
fulsome  to  be  genuine.  In  his  enforced  retirement  from  public  life 
after  the  battle  of  Pharsalia,  he  composed  some  of  those  pleasing 
dialogues  which  we  still  read.  Both  to  him  and  to  every  other 
senatorial  chief  Ccesar  not  only  showed  pardon  but  favor. 

Yet  the  remnant  of  the  nobles  loved  him  not.  And  with  the  people 
at  large  he  suffered  still  more,  from  a belief  that  he  wished  to  be 
made  king.  On  his  return  from  Spain,  he  had  been  named  dictator 
and  imperator  for  life.  His  head  had  l)een  for  some  time  placed  on 
the  money  of  the  republic,  a regal  honor  conceded  to  none  before 
him.  Quintilis,  the  fifth  month  of  the  calendar,  received  from  him 
the  name  which  it  still  bears.  The  senate  took  an  oaUi  to  guard  the 
safety  of  his  person.  He  was  honored  with  sacrificial  offerings,  and 
other  honor’s,  which  had  hitherto  been  reserved  for  the  gods.  But 
Caesar  was  not  satisfied.  lie  was  often  heard  to  quote  the  sentiment 
of  Euripides,  that  “ if  any  violation  of  law  is  excusable,  it  is  excus- 
able for  the  sake  of  gaining  sovereign  power.”  The  craving  de.sire 
to  transmit  power  to  an  heir  occupied  him  as  it  occupied  Cromwell 
and  Napoleon  : and  no  title  yet  conferred  upon  him  was  hereditarj'. 
It  was  no  doubt  to  ascertain  the  popular  sentiments  that  various  prop- 
ositions were  made  toward  an  assumption  of  the  style  and  title  of 
king.  His  statues  in  the  forum  were  found  crowned  with  a diadem  ; 
but  two  of  the  tribunes  tore  it  off,  and  the  mob  applauded.  On  the 
26th  of  January,  at  the  great  Latin  festival  on  the  Alban  Mount, 
voices  in  the  crowd  saluted  him  as  king  : but  mutlerings  of  discon- 
tent reached  his  ear,  and  he  promptly  said;  "I  am  no  king,  but 
Caesar.”  Yet  the  tiibunes  who  punished  those  who  were  detected 
in  raising  the  cry  were  deposed  by  the  dictator's  will.  The  final 
attempt  w'as  made  at  the  Lupercalia  on  the  15th  of  Febi  uary.  Antony, 
in  the  character  of  one  of  the  priests  of  Pan,  approached  the  dictatoi 
as  he  sat  presiding  in  his  golden  chair,  and  offered  him  an  embroidered 
band,  such  as  was  worn  on  the  head  by  oriental  sovereigns.  The 
applause  which  followed  was  partial,  and  the  dictator  pul  the  offered 
gift  aside.  Then  a burst  of  genuine  cheering  greeted  him.  which 
waxed  louder  still  when  he  rejected  it  a second  time.  Old  traditional 
feeling  was  too  strong  at  Rome  even  for  Caesar’s  daring  temper  t-; 
brave  it.  The  people  would  submit  to  the  despotic  rule  of  a liictalo:- 
but  -would  not  have  a king. 

Di.sappointed  no  doubt  he  wms  ; and  one  more  attempt  was  made  to 
invest  himself  with  hereditar}-  title.  A large  camp  had  for  some  time 
been  formed  at  Apollonia  in  Illyrieum  : in  it  was  present  a young 
man,  w^ho  had  long  been  the  declared  heir  of  the  dictator.  This  was  C. 
Octavius,  son  of  his  niece  Atia,  and  therefore  his  grand-naphew 
He  was  born,  as  we  have  noted,  in  the  memorable  year  of  Catllin#’’ 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  CJSSAR 


67 


conspiracy,  and  was  now  in  his  nineteenth  year,  from  the  time  that 
he  had  assumed  the  garb  of  manhood  his  health  had  been  too  delicate 
for  militarj^  service.  Notwithstanding  this,  he  had  ventured  to 
demand  a mastersliip  of  the  horse  from  his  uncle.  But  he  was  (luietly 
refused,  and  sent  to  take  his  first  lessons  in  the  art  of  war  at  Apollonia, 
where  a large  and  well-equipped  army  had  been  assembled.  The 
destination  of  this  powerful  force  was  not  publicly  announced.  But 
general  belief  pointed,  no  doubt  rightly,  to  Parthia  ; for  the  death  of 
Crassus  was  unavenged,  and  the  Roman  eagles  were  still  retained  as 
trophies  by  the  barbaric  conqueror.  This  belief  was  confirmed  by 
the  fact  of  a oibylline  oracle  being  produced  about  this  time,  saying, 
“ that  none  but  a king  could  conquer  Parthia.  ” And  soon  after  a 
decree  was  moved  in  the  senate,  by  which  Caesar  was  to  be  enabled, 
not  at  Rome,  but  in  the  provinces,  to  assume  the  style  of  king.  With, 
out  the  well-known  emblems  and  permanent  power  of  royalty,  it  was 
argued,  a Roman  commander  could  not  expect  the  submissive  homago 
of  orientals.  But  subsequent  events  prevented  this  decree  from  being 
carried  into  effect. 

Meanwhile  other  causes  of  discontent  had  been  agitating  various 
classes  at  Rome.  Cleopatra  appeared  at  Rome  with  a boy  whom  she 
named  Caesarion  and  declared  to  be  her  sou  by  Caesar.  It  was  her 
ambition  to  be  acknowledged  as  his  wife,  and  to  obtain  the  dictator's 
inheritance  for  the  bo}'’ — a thing  hateful  even  to  the  degenerate 
Romans  of  that  day.  Then,  the  more  fiery  partisans  of  Caesar  dis- 
approved of  his  clemency  ; they  did  not  understand  his  wish  no 
longer  to  be  the  unscrupulous  leader  of  a party,  but  the  impartial 
ruler  of  the  empire.  Many  of  the  more  prodigal  sort  were  angr}^  at 
the  regulations  he  made  to  secure  the  provincials  from  extortion 
and  oppression.  Antony  himself,  who,  in  consideration  of  his 
services,  expected  the  same  extravagance  of  license  that  had  been 
granted  by  Sylla  to  his  favorites,  was  indignant  at  being  obliged  to 
pay  its  full  price  for  the  house  of  Pompey  in  the  Carinre,  of  which 
he  had  taken  possession.  The  populace  of  the  city  complained — the 
genuine  Romans  at  seeing  so  much  favor  extended  to  provinciate, 
those  of  foreign  origin  because  they  had  been  excluded  from  the  corn- 
bounty.  Caesar  no  doubt  was  eager  to  -return  to  his  army,  and  escape 
from  the  increasing  difficulties  which  beset  his  civil  government. 
But  it  seemed  likely  that  as  soon  as  he  joined  the  army,  he  would 
assume  monarchical  power,  in  virtue  of  the  late  decree  ; and  this 
consideration  urged  on  to  hasty  determination  the  remains  of  the  old 
senatorial  party,  who  owed  their  lives  to  Caesar’s  clemency,  who  had 
accepted  favors  from  his  bounty,  and  scrupled  not  to  turn  his  own 
gifts  to  his  destruction. 

The  great  difficulty  was  to  find  a leader.  C.  Cassius  was  a good 
soldier,  but  of  temper  so  fickle  and  uncertain,  that  few  were  willing 
to  confide  in  him.  It  was  upon  M.  Junius  Brutus  that  all  the  dis- 
contented turned  their  eyes.  This  young  nephew  a man,  of  Cato, 
had  taken  his  uncle  as  an  example  for  his  public  life.  But  he 


08 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


fender  of  platonic  speculations  than  of  political  action.  His  habits 
were  cold  and  reserved,  rather  those  of  a student  than  a statesman. 
He  had  reluctantly  joined  the  cause  of  Pompey,  for  he  could  ill 
forget  that  is  was  by  Pompey  that  his  father  had  been  put  to  death 
in  coldbloo‘1  ; but  he  yielded  to  the  arguments  of  Cato,  and  mastered 
his  private  feud  by  what  he  considered  zeal  for  the  public  good. 
After  Pharsalia,  he  was  received  by  Csesar  with  the  utmosi  kindness, 
and  treated  by  him  almost  like  a son.  He  seems  to  have  felt  this, 
and  lived  quietly  without  harboring  any  designs  against  his  benefactor. 
In  the  present  year  he  had  been  proclaimed  prcetor  of  the  city,  with 
the  promise  of  the  consulship  presently  after.  But  the  discontented 
remnants  of  the  old  senatorial  party  assailed  him  with  constant  re.^ 
proaches.  The  name  of  Brutus,  dear  to  all  Boman  patiiols,  was 
made  a rebuke  to  him.  “ His  ancestor  expelled  the  Tarquins  ; and 
could  he  sit  quietly  under  anew  king’s  rule?”  At  the  fool  of  the  statue 
of  that  famous  ancestor,  or  on  his  own  praetorian  tribunal,  notes  were 
placed,  containing  phrases  such  as  these;  “Thou  ait  not  Brutus  : 
would  thou  w'ert.”  “ Brutus,  thou  sleepest.”  “Awake,  Brutus.” 
Gradually  his  mind  was  excited  ; and  he  was  brought  to  think  that 
it  was  his  duty  as  a patriot  to  put  an  end  to  Caesar's  rule  even  by' 
taking  his  life.  The  most  notable  of  those  who  ai  rayed  themselves 
under  him  was  Cassius  himself.  "What  was  this  man’s  motive  is 
unknown.  He  had  never  taken  much  part  in  politics  ; and  the 
epicurean  philosophy  which  he  professed  gave  him  no  strong  reasons 
for  hating  a despotic  government.  He  had  of  bis  own  accord  made 
submission  to  the  conqueror,  and  had  been  received  with  marked 
favor.  Some  personal  reason  probably  actuated  his  unquiet  spii  it. 
More  than  sixty  persons  were  in  the  secret.  All  of  whom  we  know 
anything  w'ere,  like  Cassius,  under  obligations  to  the  dictator.  P. 
Servilius  Casca  was  by  his  grace  tribune  of  the  plebs.  L.  Tillius 
Cimber  was  promised  the  government  of  Bithynia.  Dec.  Brutus, 
one  of  his  old  Gallic  officers  was  praetor-elect,  and  was  to  be  gratified 
with  the  rich  province  of  Cisalpine  Gaul.  C.  Trebonius,  another  of 
his  most  trusted  officers,  had  received  every  favor  which  the  dictator 
could  bestow  ; he  had  just  laid  down  the  consulship,  and  was  on 
the  eve  of  departure  for  the  coveted  government  of  Asia.  Q.  Li- 
garius,  who  had  lately  accepted  a free  pardon  from  the  dictator 
rose  from  a sick-bed  to  join  the  conspirators. 

A meeting  of  the  senate  was  called  for  the  Ides  of  March,  at  whPt 
Oaesar  was  to  be  present.  This  was  the  day  appointed  for  the  murder 
The  secret  had  oozed  out.  Many  persons  warned  Caesar  that  some 
danger  was  impending.  A Greek  soothsayer  told  him  of  the  very 
day.  On  the  morning  of  the  Ides  his  wife  arose  so  disturbed  by 
dreams,  that  she  persuaded  him  to  relinquish  his  purpose  of  presiding 
in  the  senate,  and  he  sent  Antony  in  his  stead. 

This  change  of  purpose  was  reported  in  the  senate  after  the  house 
was  formed.  The  conspirators  were  in  despair.  Dec.  Brutus  at  rnco 
Went  to  Cesear,  told  him  that  the  fathei*«  were  ouly  waiting  to  confei 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAR. 


69 


apon  hiin  the  sovereign  power  which  he  desired  in  the  provinces, 
and  begged  him  not  to  listen  to  auguries  and  dreams.  Caesar  was 
persuaded  to  change  his  purpose,  and  was  carried  forth  in  his  litter. 
On  his  way,  a slave  who  had  discovered  the  conspiracy  tried  to 
attract  the  dictator’s  notice,  but  was  unable  to  reach  him  from  the 
crowd.  A Greek  philosopher,  named  Artemidorus,  succeeded  in 
putting  a roll  of  paper  into  his  hand,  containing  full  information  of 
the  conspiracy  ; but  Caesar,  supposing  it  to  be  a petition,  laid  it  in 
the  litter  by  his  side  for  a more  convenient  season.  Meanwhile  the 
conspirators  had  reason  to  think  that  their  plot  had  been  discovered. 
A friend  came  up  to  Casca  and  said,  “ Ah,  Casca,  Biutus  has  told  me 
your  secret !”  The  conspirator  started  back,  but  was  relieved  by  the 
next  sentence  : “ Where  will  you  find  money  for  the  expenses  of  the 
aedileship  ?”  Jlore  serious  alarm  was  felt  when  Popillius  Laenas 
remarked  to  Brutus  and  Cassius,  “ You  have  mv  good  wishes  ; but 
what  you  do,  do  quickly” — especially  when  the  same  senator  stepped 
up  to  Caesar  on  his  entering  the  house,  and  began  whispering  in  his 
ear.  So  terrified  was  Cassius,  that  he  thought  of  stabbing  himself 
instead  of  Caesar,  till  Brutus  quietly  observed  that  the  gestures  of 
Popillius  indicated  that  he  was  asking  a favor,  not  revealing  a fatal 
secret.  Caesar  took  his  seat  without  further  delay. 

As  was  agreed,  Cimber  presented  a petition,  praying  for  his  brother’s 
recall  from  banishment  ; and  all  the  conspirators  pressed  round  the  dic- 
tator, urging  his  favorable  answer.  Displeased  at  their  thronging  round 
him,  Caesar  attempted  to  rise.  At  that  moment,  Cimber  seized  the 
lappet  of  his  robe  and  pulled  him  down  ; and  irnmediately  Casca 
struck  him  from  the  side,  but  inflicted  only  a slight  wound.  Then  all 
drew  their  daggers  and  assailed  him.  Caesar  for  a time  defended 
himself  with  the  gi)wn  folded  over  his  left  aim,  and  the  sharp-pointed 
<rtile  which  he  held  in  his  right  hand  for  writing  on  the  wax  of  his 
tablets.  But  when  he  saw  Brutus  among  the  assassins  he  exclaimed, 
“ You  too,  Brutus  !”  and,  covering  his  face  with  his  gown,  offered  no 
further  lesistance.  In  their  eagerness  some  blows  intended  for  their 
victim  fell  upon  themselves.  But  enough  reached  Caesar  to  do  the 
bloody  work.  Pierced  by  threc-and-twenty  wounds,  he  fell  at  the 
base  of  Pompey’s  statue,  which  had  been  removed  after  Pharsalia  by 
Antony,  but  had  been  restored  by  the  magnanimity  of  Ctesar  to  be 
the  witness  of  his  bloody  end. 

Thus  died  “ the  foremost  man  in  all  the  world,”  a man  who  failed 
in  nothing  that  he  attempted.  He  might,  Cicero  thought,  have  been 
a great  orator  ; his  Commentaries  remain  to  prove  that  he  was  a great 
writer.  As  a general  he  had  few  superiors  ; as  a statesman  and 
politician  no  equal.  That  which  stamps  him  as  a man  of  true 
greatness,  is  the  entire  absence  of  vanity  and  self-conceit  from  his 
character.  If  it  were  nut  known  that  Ctesar  was  the  narrate  r of  his 
wn  campaigns,  no  one  could  guess  that  cold  and  dispassionate 
narrative  to  be  from  his  pen.  His  genial  temper  and  eas3',  unaffected 
manners  bear  testimony  to  the  same  point.  It  is  well  known  indeed 


70 


LIFE  OF  JULIUS  C^SAE. 


that  he  paid  great  attention  to  his  personal  appearance — a foible 
which  he  shared  in  common  with  many  great  men  equally  free  from 
other  vanity.  In  youth  he  was  strikingly  handsome,  and  was  the 
welcome  lover  of  many  dissolute  Roman  dames.  His  hard  life  and 
unremitting  activity  had  furrov.’etl  his  face  with  lines,  and  left  him 
with  that  meagre  visage  which  is  made  familiar  to  us  from  his  coins. 
To  the  same  cause  is  to  be  attributed  his  liability,  in  later  life,  to  tits 
of  an  epileptic  nature.  But  even  in  these  days  he  was  sedulous  in 
arranging  his  robes,  and  was  pleased  to  have  the  privilege  of  wearing 
a laurel  crown  to  hide  the  scantiness  of  his  hair.  His  morality  in 
d )Diestic  life  was  not  better  or  worse  than  commonly  prevailed  in 
/ aose  licentious  days.  He  indulged  in  profligate  amours  freely  and 
without  scruple.  But  public  opinion  reproached  him  not  for  this. 
When  it  was  sought  to  blacken  his  character,  crimes  of  a deeper  dye 
were  imputed  to  him  ; but  they  were  never  proved,  and  he  always 
indignantly  denied  them.  He  seldom,  if  ever,  allowed  pleasure  to 
interfere  with  business,  and  here  his  character  forms  a notable  con- 
tiast  to  that  of  Sylla.  In  other  respects  the  men  were  not  unlike. 
Both  were  men  of  real  genius,  and  felt  their  strength  without  vanity. 
But  Sylla  loved  pleasure  more  than  power  ; Casar  valued  power 
above  all  things.  As  a generrd,  Caesar  was  probably'  no  less  inferior 
to  Ponipey  than  Sylla  to  Marius.  Yet  his  successes  in  war, 
achieved  by  a man  who,  in  his  forty-ninth  year,  had  hardly  seen  a 
camp,  add  to  our  conviction  of  his  real  genius.  Those  successes 
were  due  not  so  much  to  scientific  and  calculated  manoeuvres  as  to 
rapid  audacity  of  movement  and  perfect  mastery'  over  the  wills  of 
men.  That  he  caused  the  death  or  captivity'  of  some  million  of^Gauls, 
to  provide  treasure  and  form  an  army  for  his  political  purposds,  is 
shocking  to  us  ; but  it  was  not  so  to  Roman  moralists.  Any  Roman 
commander  with  like  powers,  except,  perhaps,  Cato,  would  have  acted 
in  like  manner.  But  the  clemency  with  which  Caesar  spared  the  lives  of 
his  opponents  in  the  civil  war,  and  the  easy  indulgence  with  which 
he  received  them  into  favor,  were  peculiarly'  his  own.  Ilis  political 
career  was  troubled  by  no  scruples  : to  gain  his  end  he  was  utterly 
careless  of  the  means.  But  before  we  judge  him  severely,  we  must 
remember  the  manner  in  which  the  Marian  party'  had  been  trampled 
under  foot  by  Sylla  and  the  senate.  If,  however,  the  mode  in  which 
he  rose  to  power  vv'as  questionable,  the  mode  in  which  he  exercised 
it  was  admirable.  By  the  action  of  constant  civil  broils  the  consti- 
tutional system  of  Rome  Inid  given  way'  to  anarchy',  and  there  seemed 
no  escape  except  by  submission  to  the  strong  domination  of  one 
capable  man.  The  only'  effect  of  Caesar’s  fall  was  to  cause  a 
renewal  of  bloodshed  for  another  half  generation  ; and  then  his  work 
was  finished  by  a far  less  noble  and  generous  ruler.  Those  who  slew 
Cffisar  were  guilty  ©f  a great  crime,  and  a still  greater  blunder. 


THB  turn. 


LIFE  OF  CROMWELL, 


(A.D.  1599-1658.) 


The  name  of  Cromwell  up  to  the  present  period  has  been  identified 
with  ambition,  craftiness,  usurpation,  ferocity,  and  tyranny  ; we  think 
that  his  true  character  is  that  of  a fanatic.  History  is  like  the  sibyl, 
and  only  reveals  her  secrets  to  time,  leaf  by  leaf.  Hitherto  she  has 
not  exhibited  the  real  nature  and  composition  of  this  human  enigma. 
He  has  been  thought  a profound  politician  ; he  was  only  an  eminent 
sectarian.  Far-sighted  historians  of  deep  research,  such  as  Hume, 
Lingard,  Bossuet,  and  Vodaire,  have  all  been  mistaken  in  Cromwell. 
The  fault  was  not  theirs,  but  belonged  to  the  epoch  in  which  they 
wrote.  Authentic  documents  had  not  then  seen  the  light,  and  the 
portrait  of  Cromwell  had  only  been  painted  by  his  enemies.  His 
memory  &nd  his  body  have  been  treated  with  simOar  infamy  ; by  the 
restoration  of  Charles  the  Second,  by  the  royalists  of  both  branches, 
by  Catholics  and  Protestants,  by  Whigs  and  Tories,  equally  interest- 
ed in  degrading  the  image  of  the  republican  Protector. 

But  error  lasts  only  for  a time,  while  truth  endures  for  ages.  Its 
turn  was  coming,  hastened  by  an  accident. 

One  of  those  men  of  research,  who  are  to  history  what  excavators 
are  to  monuments,  Thomas  Carlyle,  a Scotch  writer,  endowed  with 
the  combined  qualities  of  exalted  enthusiasm  and  enduring  patience, 
dissatisfied  also  with  the  conventional  and  superficial  portrait  hither- 
to depicted  of  Cromwell,  resolved  to  search  out  and  restore  his  true 
lineaments.  The  evident  contradictions  of  the  historians  of  his  owm 
and  other  countries  who  had  invariably  exhibited  him  as  a fantastic 
tyrant  and  a melodramatic  hypocrite,  induced  Mr.  Carlyle  to  think, 
with  justice,  that  beneath  these  discordant  components  there  might 
be  found  another  Cromwell,  a being  of  nature,  not  of  the  imagina- 
tion. Guided  by  that  instinct  of  truth  and  logic  in  which  is  com- 
prised the  genius  of  erudite  discovery,  Mr.  Carlyle,  himself  possess- 
ing the  spirit  of  a sectary,  and  delighting  in  an  independent  course, 
undertook  to  search  out  and  examine  all  the  correspondence  buried 
in  the  depths  of  public  or  private  archives,  and  in  which,  at  the 
different  dates  of  his  domestic,  military,  and  political  life,  Cromwell, 


4 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


without  thinking  that  he  snould  thus  paint  himself,  has  in  fact  don» 
so  for  the  study  of  posterity.  Supplied  with  these  treasures  of  truth 
and  revelation,  Mr.  Carlyle  shut  himself  up  for  some  j’ears  in  the 
solitude  of  the  country,  that  nothing  might  distract  his  thoughts  from 
his  work.  Then  having  collected,  classed,  studied,  commented  on, 
and  rearranged  these  voluminous  letters  of  his  hero,  and  having  re- 
suscitated, as  if  from  the  tomb,  the  spirit  of  the  man  and  the  age,  he 
committed  to  Europe  this  hitherto  unpublished  correspondence,  say- 
ing, with  more  reason  than  .Jean  Jacques  Eousseau,  “Receive,  and 
read  ; behold  the  true  Cromwell  !”  It  is  from  these  new  and  incon- 
testable documents  that  we  now  propose  to  write  the  life  of  this  dic- 
tator. 

Cromwell,  whom  the  greater  number  of  hi.storians  (echoes  of  the 
pamphleteers  of  his  day)  state  to  have  been  the  son  of  a brewer,  or 
butcher,  was  in  reality  born  of  an  ancient  family  descended  from 
some  of  the  first  English  nobility.  His  gi-eat-uncle,  Thomas  Crom- 
well, created  Earl  of  Essex  by  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  afterward 
beheaded  in  one  of  those  ferocious  revulsions  of  character  in  which 
that  monarch  frequently  indulged,  was  one  of  the  most  zealous  de- 
spoilers  of  Romish  churches  and  monasteries,  after  Protestantism 
had  been  established  l>y  his  master.  The  great  English  dramatist, 
Shakespeare,  has  introduced  Thomas  Cromwell,  Earl  of  Essex,  in 
one  of  his  tragedies.  It  is  to  him  that  Cardinal  Moisey  saj's,  when 
sent  to  prison  and  death  by  the  fickle  Henry, 

“ Cromwell,  I charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition  ! 

Had  I but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I served  my  king,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies.” 

This  Cromwell,  Earl  of  Essex,  was  for  a brief  space  Henry  the 
Eighth  s minister  ; he  employed  one  of  his  nephews,  Richard  Crom- 
well, in  the  persecution  of  the  Catholics,  enriching  him  Avith  the 
spoils  of  churches  and  ce  nvents.  Richard  was  the  great-grandfather 
of  Oliver  the  Protector. 

His  grandfather,  known  in  the  countiy  by  the  name  of  the 
“Golden  Knight,”  in  allusion  to  the  great  riches  which  were  be- 
stowed on  his  family  at  the  spoliation  of  the  monasteries,  Avas  called 
Henry  CromAvell.  He  lived  in  Lincolnshire,  on  the  domain  of  Hiu- 
chinbrock,  formerly  an  old  convent  from  Avhich  the  nuns  had  been 
expelled,  and  which  was  afterward  changed  by  the  Cromwells  into 
a seignorial  manor-house.  His  eldest  son,  Richard,  married  a 
daughter  of  one  of  the  branches  of  the  house  of  Stuart,  who  resided 
in  the  same  count}'.  This  Elizabeth  Stuart  was  the  aunt  of  Oliver 
Cromwell,  Avho  afterward  immolated  Charles  the  First.  It  appears 
as  if  destiny  delighted  thus  to  mingle  in  the  .same  A'eins  the  blood  of 
the  victim  and  his  executioner. 

King  .James  the  First,  Avhen  [lassing  through  Lincolnshire,  on  his 
way  to  take  possession  of  the  English  crown,  honored  the  dArelling 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


5 


of  the  Cromwells  by  his  presence,  on  account  of  his  relationship  to 
Elizabeth  Stuart,  aunt  of  the  future  Protector.  The  child,  born  in 
1599,  was  then  four  years  old,  and  in  after  years,  wdien  he  himself 
reigned  in  the  palace  of  the  Stuarts,  he  might  easilj"  remember  hav- 
ing seen  under  his  own  roof  and  at  the  table  of  his  family  this  king, 
father  of  the  monarch  he  had  dethroned  and  beheaded  ! 

It  was  not  long  before  the  family  lost  its  wealth.  The  eldest  of 
the  sons  sold  for  a trifling  sum  the  manor  of  Hinchinbrook,  and  re- 
tired to  a small  estate  that  he  possessed  in  the  marshes  tTf  Hunting- 
donshire. His  youngest  brother,  Robert  Cromwell,  father  of  the 
future  sovereign  of  England,  brought  up  his  family  in  poverty  on  a 
small  adjoining  estate  upon  the  banks  of  the  river  Ouse,  called  EI3’. 
The  poor,  rough,  and  unyielding  nature  of  this  moist  country,  the 
unbroken  horizon,  the  mudd}'  river,  cloudy  sky,  miserable  trees, 
scattered  cottages,  and  rude  manners  of  the  inhabitants,  were  well 
calculated  to  contract  and  sadden  the  dispo.sition  of  a child.  The 
character  of  the  scenes  in  which  we  are  brought  up  impresses  itself 
upon  our  souls.  Great  fanatics  generally  proceed  from  sad  and 
Sterile  countries.  IVIahomet  sprang  from  the  scorching  valleys  of 
Arabia  ; Luther  from  the  frozen  mountains  of  Lower  Germany  ; 
Calvin  from  the  inanimate  plains  of  Picardy  ; Cromwell  from  the 
stagnant  marshes  of  the  Ouse.  As  is  the  place,  so  is  the  man.  The 
mind  is  a mirror  before  it  beeomes  a home. 

Oliver  Cromwell,  whose  history  we  are  writing,  was  the  fifth  child 
jf  his  father,  who  died  before  he  attained  maturity.  Sent  to  the 
University  of  Cambridge,  a town  adjoining  his  paternal  residenee,  he 
there  received  a liberal  education,  and  returned  at  the  age  of  eigh- 
teen, after  the  death  of  his  father,  to  be  the  support  of  his  mother 
md  a second  parent  to  his  sisters.  He  eonducted,  with  sagacity  beyond 
his  years,  the  family  estate  and  establishment,  under  his  mother’s 
eye.  At  twenty-one  he  married  Elizabeth  Bourchier,  a young  and 
beautiful  heiress  of  the  county,  whose  portraits  show,  under  the 
chaste  and  calm  figure  of  the  North,  an  enthusiastic,  religious,  and 
contemplative  soul.  She  was  the  first  and  only  love  of  her  husband. 

Cromwell  took  up  his  abode  with  his  wife  in  the  house  of  hi? 
mother  and  sisters  at  Huntingdon,  and  lived  there  ten  years  in  do- 
mestic felicity,  occupied  with  the  cares  of  a confined  income,  the 
rural  employments  of  a gentleman  farmer  who  cultivates  his  own 
estate,  and  those  religious  contemplations  of  reform  which  at  that 
period  agitated  almost  to  insanity  Scotland,  England,  and  Europe. 

His  family,  friends,  and  neighbors  were  devotedly  attached  to  the 
new  cause  of  puritanic  Protestantism  ; a cause  which  had  always 
been  opposed  in  England  by  the  remnant  of  the  old  conquered 
church,  ever  ready  to  revive.  The  celebrated  patriot  Hampden,  who 
was  destined  to  give  the  signal  for  a revolution  on  the  throne,  by  re 
fusing  to  pay  the  impost  of  twenty  shillings  to  the  crown,  was  the 
young  Cromwell’s  cousin,  and  a puritaq  like  himself.  The  family, 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


(? 

revolutionists  in  religion  and  politics,  mutuallj"  encouraged  eacn 
other  in  their  solitude,  by  tlie  prevailing  passion  of  tlie  times  then 
concentrated  in  a small  body  of  faithful  adherents.  This  passion, 
in  the  ardent  and  gloomy  disposition  of  Cromwell  almost  produced 
a disease  of  the  imagination.  He  trembled  for  his  eternal  salvation, 
and  dreaded  lest  he  should  not  sacrifice  enough  for  his  faith.  He 
reproached  himself  for  an  act  of  cowardly  toleration  in  permitting 
Catholic  symbols,  such  as  the  cross  on  the  summit,  and  other  relig- 
ious ornaments,  left  by  recent  Protestantism,  to  remain  upon  the 
church  at  Huntingdon.  He  was  impressed  with  the  idea  of  an  earlj 
death,  and  lived  under  the  terror  of  eternal  punishment.  Warwick, 
one  of  his  contemporaries,  relates  that  Cromwell,  seized  on  a particu- 
lar occasion  with  a fit  of  religious  melancholy,  sent  frequently  dur- 
ing the  night  for  the  physician  of  the  neighboring  village,  tliat  he 
might  talk  to  him  of  his  doubts  and  terrors.  He  assisted  assiduously 
at  the  preachings  of  those  itinerant  puritan  ministers  who  came  to 
stir  up  polemical  ardor  and  antipathies.  He  sought  solitude,  and 
meditated  upon  the  sacred  texts  by  the  banks  of  the  river  which 
traversed  his  fields.  The  disease  of  the  times,  the  interpretation  of 
the  Bible,  which  had  then  taken  possession  of  every  mind,  gave  a 
melanchol}'  turn  to  his  reflections. 

He  felt  within  himself  an  internal  inspiration  of  the  religious  and 
political  meaning  of  these  holy  words.  He  acknowledged,  in  com- 
mon with  his  puritanic  brethren,  the  individual  and  enduring  reve- 
lation shown  in  the  pages  and  verses  of  a divine  and  infallible  book, 
but  which,  without  the  Spirit  of  God,  no  prompting  or  explanation 
can  enable  us  to  understand.  The  puritanism  of  Cromwell  consisted 
in  absolute  obedience  to  the  commands  of  Sacred  AVrit,  and  the 
right  of  interpreting  the  Scriptures  according  to  his  own  conviction 
— a contradictory  but  seductive  dogma  of  his  sect,  which  commands 
on  the  one  hand  implicit  belief  in  the  divinit}'  of  a book,  and  on  the 
other  permits  free  license  to  the  imagination,  to  bestow  its  own 
meaning  on  the  inspired  leaves. 

From  this  belief  of  the  faithful  in  true  and  permanent  inspiration, 
there  was  but  one  step  to  the  hallucination  of  prophetic  gifts.  The 
devout  puritans,  .and  even  Cromwell  himself,  fell  naturally  into  this 
extreme.  Each  became  at  the  same  time  the  inspirer  and  the  in- 
spired, the  devotee  and  the  prophet.  This  religion,  ever  audibly 
speaking  in  the  soul  of  the  believer,  was  in  fact  the  religion  of 
diseased  imaginations,  whose  piety  increased  with  their  fanati- 
cism. Cromwell,  in  his  retreat,  was  led  away  by  these  miasmas  of 
the  day,  which  became  the  more  powerfully  incorporated  with  his 
nature  from  youth,  natural  energy,  and  isolation  of  mind. 

He  had  no  diversion  for  his  thoughts  in  this  solitude,  beyond  the 
increase  of  his  family,  the  cultivation  of  his  fields,  the  multiplying 
and  disposing  of  his  flocks.  Like  an  economical  farmer,  he  fre- 
quented fairs  th.at  he  might  there  purchase  j'oung  cattle,  which  he 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


li 


fattened  and  sold  at  a moderate  profit.  He  disposed  of  a portion  of 
liis  paternal  estate  for  2000  guineas,  to  enable  him  to  buy  one  nearer 
the  river,  and  with  more  pasture  land,  close  to  the  little  town  of  St. 
Ives,  a few  miles  from  Huntingdon.  He  settled  there  with  his  al . 
read.v  numerous  family,  consisting  of  two  sons  and  four  daughters, 
in  a small  manor-house,  buried  under  the  weeping-willows  which 
bordered  the  meadows,  and  called  “ Sleep  Hall.”  He  was  then 
thirty-six  years  old.  His  correspondence  at  that  time  was  filled  with 
affection  for  his  family,  praises  of  his  wife,  satisfaction  in  his  chil 
dren,  domestic  details,  and  the  solicitude  of  his  soul  for  those  mis- 
sionary puritans  whose  preaching  he  encouraged,  and  whose  zeal  he 
promoted  by  voluntary  contributions.  His  exemplary  life,  careful 
management  of  his  household,  his  assiduous  and  intelligent  attention 
to  all  "the  local  interests  of  the  county,  gained  for  him  that  rural 
popularity  which  points  out  an  unobtrusive  man  as  worthy  of  the 
esteem  and  confidence  of  the  people,  and  their  proper  representative 
in  the  legislative  councils  of  the  country.  Cromwell,  who  felt  that 
he  pos.sessed  no  natural  eloquence,  and  whose  ambition  at  that  time 
went  no  further  than  his  own  domestic  felicity,  moderate  fortune, 
and  limited  estate,  solicited  not  the  suffrages  of  the  electors  of  Hunt- 
ingdon and  St.  Ives  ; but  in  the  cause  of  religion,  which  was  all- 
powerful  with  him,  he  thought  himself  bound  in  conscience  to  accept 
them.  He  was  elected,  on  the  17th  of  March,  1627,  a member  ot 
parliament  for  his  county.  His  public  career  commenced  with 
those  political  storms  which  consigned  a king  to  the  scaffold  and 
raised  a country  gentleman  to  the  throne. 

To  understand  well  the  conduct  of  Cromwell  in  that  position  ii 
which,  without  his  own  connivance,  destiny  had  placed  him,  let  u» 
examine  the  state  of  England  at  the  period  when  he  entered,  un- 
known and  silently,  upon  the  scene. 

Henry  the  Eighth,  the  Caligula  of  Britain,  in  a fit  of  anger  agains‘ 
the  Church  ot  Rome,  changed  the  religion  of  his  kingdom.  This  was 
the  greatest  act  of  absolute  authority  ever  exercised  by  one  man  over 
an  entire  nation.  The  caprice  of  a king  became  the  conscience  of 
the  people,  and  temporal  authority  subjugated  their  souls.  The  old 
Catholicism,  repudiated  by  the  sovereign,  was  abandoned  to  indis 
criminate  pillage  and  derision,  with  its  dogmas,  hierarchy,  clergy, 
monks,  monasteries,  ecclesiastical  possessions,  territorial  fiefs,  hoarded 
riches,  and  temples  of  worship.  The  Roman  Catholic  faith  became 
a crime  in  the  kingdom,  and  its  name  a scandal  and  reproach  to  its 
followers.  National  apostasy  was  as  sudden  and  overwhelming  as 
a clap  of  thunder  : the  Catholic  nation  had  disappeared  beneath  the 
English  nation.  Henry  the  Eighth  and  his  councillors,  nevertheless, 
wished  to  preserve  the  ancient  religion  of  the  state,  so  far  as  it  was 
favorable  to  the  interests  of  the  king,  useful  to  the  clergy,  and  delu- 
sive for  the  people.  In  other  words,  the  king  was  to  possess  supreme 
authority  as  head  of  the  Church,  oyer  the  souls  of  his  subjects  ; eccle- 


8 


OLIVER  CROMIVELL. 


siastical  dignities,  honors,  and  riches  were  to  be  secured  to  the 
bishops  ; the  liturgy  and  ceremonial  pomp  to  the  people.  Selecting 
a politic  medium  between  the  Church  of  Rome  and  the  church  of 
Luther,  England  constituted  her  own.  This  church,  rebellious 
against  Rome,  wlmm  she  imitated  while  opposing  her,  submitted  to 
Luther,  whom  she  restrained  while  she  encouraged  his  tenets.  It 
was  a civil  rather  than  a religious  arrangement,  which  cared  for  ihe 
bodies  before  the  souls  of  the  community,  and  gave  an  appearance 
more  of  show  than  reality  to  the  formal  piety  of  the  nation. 

The  people,  proud  of  having  thrown  off  the  Romish  yoke,  and  dis- 
liking the  ancient  supremacy  which  had  so  long  bent  and  governed 
the  island  ; recoiling  in  horror  from  the  name  of  the  Papacy,  a word 
in  which  was  summed  up  all  that  was  superstitious  and  all  that  re- 
lated to  foi'eign  domination,  readily  attached  themselves  to  the  new 
church.  They  beheld  in  her  the  emblem  of  their  independence,  a 
palladium  against  Rome,  and  the  pledge  of  their  nationality.  Every 
king  since  Henry  the  Eighth,  whatever  maj'  have  been  his  personal 
creed,  has  been  obliged  to  protect  and  defend  the  worship  of  the 
C'hurch  of  England.  An  avowal  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  would 
be  his  signal  of  abdication.  The  jreople  would  not  trust  their  civil 
liberties  to  the  care  of  a prince  who  professed  spiritual  dependence 
on  the  Church  of  Rome. 

The  right  of  liberty  of  conscience  had  naturally  followed  this 
change  in  the  minds  of  Englishmen.  Hirving  revolted,  at  the  com- 
mand of  their  sovereign,  against  the  ancient  and  sacred  authority  of 
the  Romish  Church,  it  was  absurd  to  think  that  the  conscience  of  the 
nation  would  submit  without  a murmur  to  the  unity  of  the  new  in- 
stitution, the  foundations  of  which  bad  been  planted  before  their 
eyes  in  debauchery  and  blood,  by  the  English  tyrant,  too  recentlj' 
for  them  to  believe  in  its  divine  origin.  Every  conscien'ce  wished  to 
profit  by  its  liberty,  and  different  sects  sprang  up  from  this  religious 
anarchy  ; they  were  as  innumerable  as  the  ideas  of  man  delivered  up 
to  his  own  fancies,  and  fervent  in  proportion  to  their  novelty.  To 
describe  them  would  exceed  our  limits.  The  most  widel3’-extended 
were  the  puritans,  who  may  be  called  the  Jansenists  of  the  Reforma- 
tion ; an  extreme  sect  of  Protestants,  logical,  practical,  and  republi- 
can. Once  entered  into  the  region  of  liberal  and  individual  creeds, 
they  saw  no  reason  why  they  should  temporize  with  what  they  called 
the  superstitious  idolatries,  abominations,  symbols,  ceremonies,  and 
infatuations  of  the  Romish  Church.  They  admitted  only  the  author- 
ity of  the  Bible  and  the  supremacy  of  Sacred  Writ,  of  which  they 
would  receive  no  explanation  or  application  but  that  which  was  com- 
municated to  them  from  the  Spirit ; in  other  words,  from  the  arbi- 
trary inspiration  of  their  own  thoughts.  They  carried  their  oracle 
within  their  own  bosoms,  and  perpetualty  consulted  it.  In  order  to 
invest  it  with  more  power,  they  held  religious  meetings  and  estab' 
lished  conventicles  and  churches,  where  each,  as  the  Spirit  move^ 


OLIVER  CROMTTELL. 


9 


him,  spoke  ; and  the  incoherent  ravings  of  the  faithful  passed  as  the 
word  of  God. 

Such  was  the  sect  whicli,  from  the  time  of  Henry  the  Eighth, 
struggled  at  the  same  time  against  the  power  of  the  Anglican  Cliurch 
and  the  remains  of  the  proscribed  Romanism. 

Three  reigns  had  been  disturbed  by  religious  dissensions — that 
of  Mary,  the  Catholic  daughter  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  who  had  fa- 
vored the  return  of  her  subjects  to  their  original  faitli,  and  whose 
memory  the  puritans  abl\orred  as  that  of  a papistical  Jezebel  ; that 
of  Elizabeth,  the  Protestant  daughter  of  the  same  king  by  another 
wife,  who  persecuted  the  Catholics,  sacrificed  Mary  Stuart,  and  or- 
dained recantation,  imprisonment,  and  even  death  to  those  who  re- 
fnsed  to  sign  at  least  once  in  six  mouths  their  profession  of  the  re- 
formed creed  ; and,  finally,  that  of  James  the  First,  son  of  Mary 
Stuart,  who  had  been  educated  iu  the  Protestant  faith  by  the  Scotch 
puritans.  This  prince  succeeded  to  the  English  throne,  by  right  of 
inheritance  from  the  house  of  Tudor,  upon  the  death  of  Elizabeth  ; 
a mild,  philosophical,  and  iudrdgent  monarch,  who  wished  to  tolerate 
both  faiths  and  make  the  rival  sects  live  peaceably  together,  although 
they  trembled  with  ill-suppressed  animosity  at  this  imposed  truce. 

Charles  the  First,  his  son,  succeeded  to  the  throne  in  his  twentj'- 
sixth  year.  He  was  endowed  by  nature,  character,  and  education 
with  all  the  qualities  necessary  for  the  government  of  a powerful  and 
enlightened  nation  in  ordinary  times.  He  was  handsome,  brave, 
faithful,  eloquent,  honest  and  true  to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience  ; 
ambitious  of  the  love  of  his  people,  solicitous  for  the  welfare  of  his 
country,  incapable  of  violating  the  laws  or  liberty  of  his  subjects, 
and  only  desirous  of  preserving  to  his  successors  that  unlimited  and 
iU-deflned  exercise  of  the  royal  prerogative  which  the  constitution, 
in  practice  rather  than  in  true  essence,  affected  to  bestow  upon  its 
kings. 

Upon  ascending  the  throne,  Charles  found  and  retained  in  the 
office  of  prime  minister,  out  of  respect  to  the  memory  of  his  father, 
his  former  favorite,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  a man  of  no  merit, 
whose  personal  beauty,  graceful  manners,  and  ovei'bearing  pride 
were  his  sole  recommendations  ; and  who  furnishes  a remarkable  in- 
stance of  the  caprice  of  fortune  and  the  foolish  partiality  of  a weak 
king,  which  could  transform  him  mto  a powerful  noble,  while  it 
failed  to  render  him  an  able  statesman.  He  was  more  qualified  to  fill 
the  place  of  favorite  than  minister.  Buckingham,  having  repaid  with 
ingratitude  the  kindness  of  the  father,  against  whom  he  secretly  ex- 
cited a parliamentary  cabal,  endeavored  to  continue  his  habitual 
sway  under  the  new  reign  of  the  son.  The  diffidence  of  Charles 
allowed  Buckingham  for  several  years  to  agitate  England  and  em- 
broil the  state.  By  turns,  according  to  the  dictates  of  his  own  inter- 
ests, he  caused  his  new  master  to  increase  or  lessen  that  relationship 
between  the  crown  and  parliament,  beyond  or  below  the  limits  which 

A.B.-14 


10  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

right  or  tradition  attributed  to  these  two  powers.  He  created  thus  s 
spirit  of  resistance  and  encroachment  on  the  pa  t of  the  parliament, 
in  opposition  to  the  spirit  of  enterprise  and  preponderance,  on  that 
(5 f the  royal  authority.  Buckingham  affected  the  absolute  power  of 
Cardinal  Richelieu,  without  possessing  either  his  character  or  genius. 
The  poniard  of  a fanatic  who  stabbed  him  at  Portsmouth,  in  revenge 
for  an  act  of  private  injustice  which  had  deprived  him  of  his  rank  m 
the  army,  at  length  delivered  Charles  from  this  presumptuous  fa- 
vorite. 

From  this  time  the  King  of  England,  like  Louis  the  Fourteenth 
of  France,  resolved  to  govern  without  a prime  minister.  But  the 
unfortunate  Charles  had  neither  a Richelieu  to  put  down  opposition 
by  force  nor  a Mazarin  to  silence  it  by  bribery.  Besides,  at  the 
moment  when  Louis  the  Fourteentli  ascended  the  throne,  the  civil 
wars  which  had  so  long  agitated  France  were  just  concluded,  and 
those  of  England  were  about  to  commence.  We  cannot,  therefore, 
reasonably  attribute  to  the  personal  insufficiency  of  Charles  those 
misfortunes  which  emanated  from  the  times  rather  than  from  his 
own  character. 

In  a few  years  the  struggles  between  the  young  king  and  his  par- 
liament, struggles  augmented  by  religious  more  than  political  fac- 
tions. threw  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland  into  a general  ferment, 
which  formed  a prelude  to  the  long  civil  wars  and  calamities  of  the 
state.  The  parliament,  frequently  dissolved  from  impatience  at 
the.se  revolts,  and  always  reassembled  from  the  necessity  cf  fprther 
grants,  became  the  heart  and  active  popular  centre  of  the  different 
parties  opposed  to  the  king.  All  England  ranged  herself  behind  her 
orators.  The  king  was  looked  upon  as  the  common  enemy  of  every 
religious  sect,  of  public  liberty,  and  the  foe  of  each  ambitious  mal- 
content who  expected  to  appropriate  a fragment  of  the  crown  by  the 
total  subversion  of  the  royal  authority.  Charles  the  First  energeti- 
cally struggled  for  some  lime,  first  with  one  ministry  then  with  an- 
other. The  spirit  of  opposition  was  so  universal  that  all  who  ven- 
tured into  the  royal  council  became  instantly  objects  of  suspicion, 
incompetence,  and  discredit,  in  the  estimation  of  the  public. 

A bolder  and  more  able  minister  than  any  of  his  predecessors, Thomas 
Wentworth,  Earl  of  Strafford,  a man  who  had  acquired  a high  reputa- 
tion with  the  opposition  party  by  his  eloquence,  and  whose  fame  had 
pointed  him  out  to  the  notice  of  the  king,  devoted  his  popularity  and 
talents  to  the  service  of  his  sovereign. 

Strafford  appeared  for  a time,  by  the  force  of  persuasion,  wisdom, 
and  intrepid  firmness,  to  support  the  tottering  throne,  but  the  parlia- 
ment denounced,  and  the  king,  who  loved  was  unable  to  defend 
him.  Strafford,  threatened  with  capital  punishment,  more  for  actual 
services  than  for  imaginary  crimes,  was  summoned  b}'  the  parlia- 
ment,  after  a long  captivity,  to  appear  before  a commission  of  judges 
composed  of  his  enemies.  The  king  could  only  obtain  the  favor  of 


OLIVER  CROMIVELL. 


11 


being  present  in  a grated  gallery,  at  the  trial  of  bis  minister.  He  was 
struck  to  the  heart  by  the  blows  levelled  through  the  hatred  of  the 
parliament  against  his  friend.  Never  did  an  arraigned  prisoner  reply 
with  greater  majesty  of  innocence  than  did  Strafford  in  his  last  de- 
fence before  his  accusers  and  his  kin^.  Neither  Athens  nor  Rome 
record  any  incident  of  more  tragic  sublimity  in  their  united  annals. 

“ Unable  to  find  in  my  conduct,”  said  Strafford  to  his  judges, 
“ anything  to  which  might  be  applied  the  name  or  punishment  of 
treason,  my  enemies  have  invented,  in  defiance  of  all  law,  a chain  of 
constructive  and  accumulative  evidence,  by  which  my  actions, 
although  innocent  and  laudable  when  taken  separately,  viewed  in  this 
collected  light,  become  treasonable.  It  is  hard  to  be  questioned  on  a 
law  which  cannot  be  shown.  Where  hath  this  fire  lain  hid  so  many 
hundreds  of  years,  without  smoke  to  discover  it  till  it  thus  bursts  forth 
to  consume  me  and  my  children  ? It  is  better  to  be  without  laws 
altogether  than  to  persuade  ourselves  that  we  have  laws  by  which  to 
regulate  our  conduct,  and  to  find  that  they  consist  only  in  the  enmit.v 
and  arbitrary  will  of  our  accusers.  If  a man  sails  upon  the  Thames 
in  a boat,  and  splits  himself  upon  an  anchor,  and  no  buoy  be  floating 
to  discover  it,  he  who  owneth  the  anchor  shall  make  satisfaction  ; 
but  if  a buoy  be  set  there,  every  one  passeth  it  at  his  own  peril. 
Now  where  is  the  mark,  where  the  tokens  upon  this  crime,  to  declare 
it  to  be  high  treason  ? It  has  remained  hidden  under  the  water  ; no 
human  prudence  or  innocence  could  preserve  me  from  the  ruin  with 
which  it  menaces  me. 

“ For  two  hundred  and  forty  years,  every  species  of  treason  has 
been  defined,  and  during  that  long  space  of  time  I am  the  first,  I am 
the  only  exception  for  whom  the  definition  has  been  enlarged,  that  I 
may  be  enveloped  in  its  meshes.  My  Lords,  we  have  lived  happily 
within  the  limits  of  our  own  land  ; we  have  lived  gloriously  beyond 
them,  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world.  Let  us  be  satisfied  with  what 
our  fathers  have  left  us  ; let  not  ambition  tempt  us  to  desire  that  we 
may  become  more  acquainted  than  they  were  with  these  destructive 
and  perfidious  arts  of  incriminating  innocence.  In  this  manner,  my 
Lords,  you  will  act  wisely,  you  will  provide  for  your  own  safety  and 
the  safety  of  your  descendants,  while  you  secure  that  of  the  whole 
kingdom.^  If  you  throw  into  the  fire  these  sanguinary  and  mysteri- 
ous selections  of  constructive  treason,  as  the  first  Christians  consumed 
their  books  of  dangerous  art,  and  confine  yourselves  to  the  simple 
meaning  of  the  statute  in  its  vigor,  who  shall  say  that  you  have  done 
wrong  ? Where  will  be  your  crime,  and  how,  in  abstaining  from 
error,  can  you  incur  punishment.  Beware  of  awakening  these  sleep- 
ing lions  for  your  own  destruction.  Add  not  to  my  other  afflictions 
that  which  I shall  esteem  the  heaviest  of  all — that  for  my  sins  as  a 
man,  and  not  for  my  offences  as  a minister,  I should  be  the  unfortu- 
nate means  of  introducing  such  a precedent,  such  an  example  of  a 
proceeding  so  opposed  to  the  laws  and  liberties  of  my  covmtry. 


IS 


OLIVER  CROMITELL. 


“ My  Lords,  I have  troubled  you  longer  than  I should  have  doue 
were  it  not  for  the  interest  of  these  dear  pledges  a saint  in  heaven 
hath  left  me.”  [Here  he  stopped,  letting  fall  some  tears,  and  then 
resumed  :]  “ What  I forfeit  myself  is  nothing,  but  that  mj'  indiscre- 
tion should  extend  to  my  posterity,  wouudeth  me  to  tlie  ver^"  soul. 
You  will  pardon  my  infirmity,  something  I should  have  added,  hut 
am  not  able,  therefore  let  it  pass.  And  now,  my  Lords,  for  myselL 
1 have  been,  by  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God,  taught  that  the  afflic- 
tions of  this  present  life  are  not  to  be  compared  to  tlie  eternal  weight 
of  glory  which  shall  be  revealed  hereafter.  And  so,  m)'  Lords,  even 
so,  with  all  tranquillity  of  mind,  1 freely  submit  myself  to  your  judg- 
ment ; and  whether  that  judgment  be  for  life  or  death — ‘ Tc  Deum 
Laudamus  ! ’ ” Sentence  of  death  was  the  reply  to  this  eloquence  and 
virtue. 

The  warrant  was  illegal  without  the  signature  of  the  king ; to 
sign  it  was  to  be  false  to  conviction,  gratitude,  friendship,  and  dig- 
nity ; to  refuse  to  do  so  would  be  to  defy  the  parliament  and  people, 
and  draw  down  upon  the  throne  itself  the  thunderbolt  of  popular 
indignation,  which  the  death  of  the  minister  would  for  a time  divert. 
Charles  tried  by  eveiy  means  of  delaj'  to  avoid  the  shame  or  danger  ; 
he  appeared  more  as  a suppliant  than  as  a king  before  the  parliament, 
and  besought  them  to  spare  him  this  pun  shment.  Urged  hy  the 
queen,  who  disliked  Strafford,  and  whose  heart  could  not  hesitate  for 
an  instant  between  the  death  of  Charles  or  his  minister,  the  king 
acknowledged  that  he  did  not  think  Strafford  quite  innocent  of  some 
irregularities  and  misuse  of  the  public  money,  and  added,  that  if  the 
parliament  would  confine  the  sentence  to  the  crime  of  embezzlement, 
he  would  give  his  sanction  conscientiously  to  the  punishment ; hut 
for  high  treason,  his  own  internal  conviction  and  honor  forbade  his 
confirming  calumny  and  iniciuity  by  signing  the  death-warrant  of 
Strafford. 

The  parliament  was  inflexible  ; the  queen  wept ; England  was  in  a 
ferment.  Charles,  although  ready  to  yield,  still  hesitated.  The 
Queen  Henrietta,  of  France,  daughter  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  a beauti- 
ful and  accomplished  princess,  for  whom  until  his  death  the  king  pre- 
sented the  fidelity  of  a husband  and  the  passion  of  a lover,  presented 
herself  before  him  in  mourning,  accompanied  by  her  little  children. 
She  besought  him  on  her  knees  to  yield  to  the  vengeance  of  the  pci/- 
ple,  which  he  could  not  resist  without  turning  upon  the  innocent 
idedges  of  their  love,  that  death  which  he  was  endeavoring  vainly  to 
avert  from  a condemned  head.  ‘‘  Choose,"  said  she,  “ between  j'oui 
own  life,  mine,  these  dear  children’s,  and  the  life  of  this  minister  so 
hateful  to  the  nation.” 

Charles,  struck  with  horror  at  the  idea  of  sacrificing  his  beloved 
wife  and  infant  children,  the  hopes  of  the  monarchy,  replied  that  he 
cared  not  for  his  own  life,  for  he  would  willingly  give  it  to  save  his 
minister ; but  to  endanger  Henrietta  and  her  children  was  beyond 


OLIVER  CR05IWELL. 


13 


his  strength  and  desire.  He,  however,  still  delayed  to  sign  the  war- 
rant. Strafford,  yielding  probably  to  the  secret  solicitations  of  the 
queen,  wrote  a letter  himself  to  his  unhappy  master,  to  ease  the  con- 
science and  affection  of  the  king  as  being  the  cause  of  his  death. 

“ Sire,”  said  he  in  this  letter — a sublime  effort  of  that  virtue  which 
triumphed  over  the  natural  love  of  life  that  he  might  lessen  the  re- 
morseful feelings  of  his  murderers—”  Sire,  hesitate  not  to  sacrifice 
me  to  the  malignity  of  the  times,  and  to  public  vengeance  which 
thirsts  for  my  life.  My  voluntary  eonsent  to  the  signature  of  my 
own  death  warrant  wliich  they  require  of  you  will  acquit  you  before 
God  more  than  the  opinion  of  the  whole  world.  There  is  no  injustice 
in  consenting  to  that  which  the  condemned  desires  and  himself  de- 
mands. 

“ Since  Heaven  has  granted  me  sufficient  grace  to  enable  me  to  for- 
give ray  enemies  with  a tranquillity  and  resignation  which  impart  an 
indescribable  contentment  to  my  soul,  now  about  to  change  its  dwell- 
ing-place, I can,  Sire,  willingly  and  joyfully  resign  this  earthly  life, 
filled  with  a just  sense  of  gratitude  for  ail  those  favors  with  which 
your  Majesty  has  blessed  me.” 

This  letter  overcame  the  last  scruples  of  the  king  ; he  thought  that 
the  consent  of  the  vietim  legalized  his  murder,  and  that  God  would 
pardon  him  as  the  condemned  had  done.  He  accepted  the  sacrifice 
of  the  life  offered  him  in  exchange  for  the  lives  of  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren, perhaps  for  bis  own,  and  the  safety  of  the  monarchy.  Love 
for  his  family,  the  hope  of  averting  civil  war,  and  of  bringing  back 
the  parliament  to  a sense  of  reason  and  justice  from  gratitude  for 
this  sacrifice,  completely  blinded  his  eyes.  He  thought  to  lessen  the 
horror  and  ingratitude  of  the  act  by  appointing  a commission  of  three 
members  of  his  council,  and  delegating  to  them  the  power  of  signing 
the  parliamentary  death-warrant  against  Strafford.  The  commission- 
ers ratified  the  sentence,  and  the  king  shut  himself  up  to  weep,  and 
avoid  the  light  of  that  morning  which  was  to  witness  the  fall  of  his 
faithful  and  innocent  servant.  He  thought  that  by  obliterating  this 
day  from  his  life  he  would  also  expunge  it  from  the  memory  of  lieav- 
en  and  man.  He  passed  the  whole  time  in  darkness,  in  prayers  for 
the  dying  and  in  tears  ; but  the  sun  rose  to  commemorate  the  injus- 
tice of  the  monarch,  the  treachery  of  the  friend,  and  the  greatness  of 
soul  of  the  victim. 

“I  have  sinned  against  my  conscience,  ” wrote  the  king  several 
years  after  to  the  queen,  when  reproaching  himself  for  that  signature 
drawn  from  him  by  the  love  he  bore  his  wife  and  children 
” It  warned  me  at  the  time  , 1 was  seized  with  remorse  at  the  instant 
when  I signed  this  base  and  criminal  concession.” 

‘‘God  grant,”  cried  the  archbishop,  his  ecclesiastical  adviser,  on 
seeing  him  throw  down  his  pen  after  signing  the  nomination  of  the 
commissioners  ; ” God  grant  that  your  Majesty’s  conscience  may  not 
reproach  you  for  this  act  ” 


14: 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


‘ ' Ah  ! Strafford  is  happier  than  I am,”  replied  the  prince,  conceal- 
ing his  eyes  with  his  hands.  “ Tell  him  that,  did  it  not  concern  the 
safety  of  the  kingdom,  1 would  willingly  give  my  life  for  his  !” 

The  king  still  flattered  himself  that  the  House  of  Commons,  satis- 
fied with  his  humiliation  and  deference  to  their  will,  would  spare  the 
life  of  his  friend  and  grant  a commutation  of  the  punishment.  He 
did  not  know  these  men,  who  were  more  implacable  than  tyrants — for 
factions  are  governed  by  the  mind,  not  the  heart,  and  are  inaccessible 
to  emotions  of  sympathy.  Men  vote  unanimously  with  their  party, 
fi’om  fear  of  each  other,  for  measures  which,  when  taken  singl}^ 
they  would  abhor  to  think  of.  Man  in  a mass  is  no  longer  man---he 
becomes  an  clement.  To  move  this  deaf  and  cruel  element  of  die 
House  of  Commons,  Charles  used  every  effort  to  flatter  the  prid<  and 
touch  the  feeling  of  tliese  tribunes  of  the  people.  He  wrote  a i lost 
pathetic  letter,  bedewed  with  his  tears,  and  sent  it  to  the  parliac»ent, 
to  render  it  more  irresistible,  by  the  hand  of  a child,  his  sou.  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  whose  beauty,  tender  age,  and  innocence  ougnt  to 
have  made  refusal  impossible  from  subjects  petitioned  by  such  a sup- 
pliant. 

The  king  in  this  letter  laid  bare  his  whole  heart  before  the  Com- 
mons, displayed  his  wounded  feelings,  described  the  agony  he  felt  in 
sacrificing  his  kingly  honor  and  his  personal  regard  for  the  wishes 
of  his  subjects.  He  enlarged  upon  the  great  satisfaction  he  had  at 
length  given  to  the  Commons,  and  onlj’  demanded  in  return  for 
such  submission  the  perpetual  imprisonment,  instead  of  the  death,  of 
his  former  minister.  But  at  the  end,  as  if  he  himself  doubted  the 
success  of  his  petition,  he  conjured  them  in  a postscript  at  least  to 
defer  until  the  Saturda}'  following  the  execution  of  the  condemned, 
that  he  might  have  time  to  prepare  for  death. 

All  remained  deaf  to  the  voice  of  the  father  and  the  intercession 
of  the  child.  Tlie  parliament  accorded  neither  a commutation  of  the 
punishment  nor  an  additional  hour  of  life  to  the  sentenced  criminal. 
Their  popularity  forced  them  to  act  before  the  people  with  the  same 
inexorable  promptness  that  they  exacted  from  the  king.  The  beaut  if ul 
Countess  of  Carlisle,  a kind  of  English  Cleopatra,  of  whom  Strafford 
in  the  season  of  his  greatness  had  been  the  favored  lover,  used  every 
effort  with  the  parliament  to  obtain  the  life  of  the  man  whose  love 
had  been  her  pride.  The  fascinating  countess  failed  to  soften  their 
hearts. 

As  if  it  were  the  fate  of  Strafford  to  suffer  at  the  same  time  the 
loss  of  both  love  and  friendship,  this  versatile  beauty,  more  attached 
to  the  power  than  to  the  persons  of  her  admirers,  transferred  her 
allections  quickly  from  Strafford  to  Pym,  and  became  the  mistress  of 
the  murderer,  who  succeeded  to  the  victim. 

“ P3'm,”  says  the  English  history'  so  closeh'  examined  bj'  1\I. 
tfliasles,  ‘‘  was  an  ambitious  man  who  acted  fanaticism  without  con- 
'^jction.  Homo  exluto  et  argiUa  Epicurea  facias,"  according  to  the 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


15 


energetic  phrase  of  Racket,  “ A man  moulded  from  the  mud  and 
clay  of  sensuality.”  Such  men  are  often  seen  in  popular  or  in  mon- 
archical factions  ; servants  and  flatterers  of  their  sect,  who  in  their 
turn  satisfy  their  followers  by  relieving  the  satiety  of  voluptuousness 
with  the  taste  of  blood. 

Strafford  was  prepared  for  every  extremity  after  being  abandoned 
by  the  two  beings  he  had  most  loved  and  served  on  earth.  Neverthe- 
less, when  it  was  auuounced  to  him  that  the  king  had  signed  the 
death-warrant,  nature  triumphed  over  resignation,  and  a reproach 
escaped  him  in  his  grief.  “ Nolite fidere  principibus  etjiUis  twmlnum,” 
cried  he,  raising  his  hands  in  astonishment  toward  the  vaulted  ceil- 
ing of  his  prison,  “ quia  7ion  est  salus  in  illis.” 

“ Put  not  your  trust  in  princes,  nor  in  any  child  of  man,  for  in 
them  is  no  salvation.” 

He  requested  to  be  allowed  a short  interview  with  the  Archbishop 
of  London,  Laud,  imprisoned  in  the  Tower  on  a similar  charge  with 
himself.  Laud  was  a truly  pious  prelate,  with  a mind  superior  to 
the  age  in  which  he  lived.  This  interview,  in  which  the  two  royal- 
ists hoped  to  fortify  each  other  for  life  or  death,  was  refused 
‘‘  Well,”  said  Strafford  to  the  governor  of  the  Tower,  “ at  least  tell 
the  archbishop  to  place  himself  to-morrow  at  his  window  at  the  horn’ 
when  I pass  to  the  scaffold,  that  I may  bid  him  a last  farewell.  ’ ’ 

The  next  day  it  was  pressed  upon  Strafford  to  ask  for  a carriage  to 
convey  him  to  the  place  of  execution,  fearing  that  the  fury  of  the 
people  would  anticipate  the  executioner  and  tear  from  his  hands  the 
victim,  denounced  by  Pym  and  the  orators  of  the  House  of  Commons 
as  the  public  enemy.  “No,”  replied  Strafford,  “I  know  how  to 
look  death  and  the  people  in  the  face  ; whether  I die  by  the  hand  of 
the  executioner  or  by  the  fury  of  the  populace,  if  it  should  so  please 
them,  matters  little  to  me.” 

In  passing  under  the  archbishop’s  window  in  the  prison-yard, 
Strafford  recollected  his  request  of  the  previous  night,  and  raised  his 
eyes  toward  the  iron  bars,  which  prevented  him  from  seeing  Laud 
distinctly.  He  could  only  perceive  the  thin  and  'rrembling  hands  of 
the  old  man  stretched  out  between  the  bars,  trying  to  bless  him  as  he 
passed  on  to  death. 

Strafford  knelt  in  the  dust,  and  bent  his  head.  “ My  lord,”  said 
he  to  the  archbishop,  “ let  me  have  your  praj'ers  and  benediction.” 

The  heart  of  the  old  man  sank  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  emc 
tion,  and  he  fainted  in  the  arms  of  his  jailers  while  uttering  a parting 
prayer. 

“ Farewell,  my  lord,”  cried  Strafford,  “ may  God  protect  your  in- 
nocence.” He  then  walked  forward  with  a firm  step,  although 
suffering  from  the  effects  of  illness  and  debility,  at  the  Jv-^ad  of  the 
soldiers  who  appeared  to  follow  rather  than  to  escort  hP.i. 

According  to  the  humane  custom  of  England  and  Rome,  which 
permits  the  condemned,  whoever  he  may  be,  to  go  to  Oe  scaffold  sur 


IS 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


roiinded  by  Ms  relations  and  friends,  Strafford’s  ctotber  accompa- 
nied him,  weeping.  “ Brother,”  said  he,  “ why  do  you  grieve  thus  ; 
do  you  see  anything  in  my  life  or  death  which  can  cause  you  to  feel 
any  shame  ? Do  I tremble  like  a criminal,  or  boast  like  an  atheist  ? 
Come,  be  firm,  and  think  only  that  this  is  my  tMrd  marriage,  and 
that  you  are  my  bridesman.  This  block,”  pointing  to  that  upon 
which  he  was  about  to  lay  his  head,  “ will  be  my  pillow,  and  I shall 
repose  there  well,  without  pain,  grief,  or  fear.” 

Having  ascended  the  scaffold  with  his  brother  and  friends,  he 
knelt  for  a moment  as  if  to  salute  the  place  of  sacrifice ; he  soon 
arose,  and  looking  around  upon  the  innumerable  and  silent  multitude, 
which  covered  the  hill  and  Towner  of  London,  the  place  of  execu- 
tion, he  raised  his  voice  in  the  same  audible  and  firm  tone  which  he 
was  accustomed  to  use  in  the  House  of  Commons,  that  theatre  of  his 
majestic  eloquence. 

“ People,”  said  he,  “ who  are  assem’oled  here  to  see  me  die,  hear 
witness  that  I desire  for  this  kingdom  all  the  prosperitj'^  that  God  can 
bestow.  Living,  I have  done  my  utmost  to  secure  the  happiness  of 
England  ; dying,  it  is  still  my  most  ardent  wish  ; but  I beseech  each 
one  of  those  who  now  hear  me  to  lay  his  hand  upon  his  heart  and 
examine  seriously  if  the  commencement  of  a salutary  reform  ought 
to  be  written  in  characters  of  blood.  Ponder  this  well  upon  yoiu"  re- 
turn home.  God  grant  that  not  a drop  of  mine  may  be  required  at 
your  hands.  I fear,  however,  that  you  cannot  advance  by  such  a 
fatal  path.” 

After  Strafford  had  spoken  these  wmrds  of  anxious  warning  to  Ms 
couutrj'-,  he  again  knelt  and  prayed,  with  all  the  signs  of  humble  and 
devout  fervor,  for  upward  of  a quarter  of  an  hour.  The  revolution- 
ary fanaticism  of  the  English,  at  least,  did  not  interrupt  the  last  mo- 
ments of  the  dying  man  ; hut  Strafford,  hearing  a dull  murmur  either 
of  pity  or  impatience  in  the  crow*d,  rose,  and  addressing  those  w’ho 
immediately  surrounded  him,  said,  “ All  will  soon  he  over.  One 
blow  will  render  mj'  wife  a widowq  my  dear  children  orphans,  and 
deprive  my  servants  of  their  master.  God  be  with  them  and  you  ! 

‘‘  Thanks  to  the  internal  strength  that  God  has  given  me,”  added 
he,  while  removing  his  upper  garment  and  tucking  up  his  hair  that 
nothing  might  interfere  with  the  stroke  of  the  axe  upon  his  neck, 

‘ ‘ I take  this  off  with  as  tranquil  a spirit  as  I have  ever  felt  when 
taking  it  off  at  night  upon  retiring  to  rest.” 

He  then  made  a sign  to  the  executioner  to  approach,  pardoned  him 
for  the  blood  he  was  about  to  shed,  and  laid  his  head  upon  the 
block,  looking  up  and  praying  to  heaven.  His  head  roUed  at  the 
feet  of  his  friends.  “ God  save  the  king  !”  cried  the  executioner, 
holding  it  up  to  exhibit  it  to  the  people. 

The  populace,  silent  and  orderly  until  this  instant,  uttered  a cry 
i>f  joy,  vengeance,  and  congratulation,  which  demonstrated  the 
frenzy  of  the  tinaes.  They  rejoiced  like  madmen  at  the  fall  of  theU 


OLIVER  CKOilWELL.  17 

greatest  citizen,  and  rushed  through  the  streets  of  London  to  order 
public  illuminations. 

The  king,  during  this,  shut  himself  up  in  his  palace,  praying  to 
God  to  forgive  him  his  consent  to  a murder  forced  from  his  weak- 
ness. The  ecclesiastic  who  had  accompanied  Strafford  to  the  scaf- 
fold was  the  only  person  admitted  into  Charles’s  apartment,  that  he 
might  give  an  account  of  the  last  moments  of  his  minister.  “ Noth- 
ing could  exceed,”  said  the  clergyman  to  the  king,  ‘‘  the  calmness 
and  majesty  of  his  end.  I have  witnessed  many  deaths,  hut  never 
have  I beheld  a purer  or  more  resigned  soul  return  to  Him  who 
gave  it.”  At  these  words  the  king  turned  away  his  head  and  wept. 

Repentance  for  his  yielding,  and  a presentiment  of  the  inutility  of 
this  concession  to  purchase  the  welfare  and  peace  of  the  kingdom, 
were  mingled  with  agonizing  grief  in  his  soul.  He  saw  clearly'  that 
the  same  blow  which  he  had  permitted  to  fall  upon  his  friend  and 
servant  would  sooner  or  later  recoil  upon  himself,  and  that  the  ex- 
ecution of  Strafford  was  only  a rehearsal  of  his  own.  TVith  subdued 
spirit,  but  awakened  conscience,  Charles  no  longer  defended  himself 
with  sophistry  from  the  feelings  of  remorse.  He  ceased  to  excuse 
himself  inwardly,  politically,  or  before  God  ; but  blamed  himself 
with  the  same  severity  that  subsequent  historians  have  bestowed  on 
this  act  of  weakness.  He  deeply  lamented  his  fault,  and  vowed  that 
it  should  be  the  first  and  last  deed  by  which  he  would  sanction  the 
iniquity  of  his  enemies  ; and  he  derived  from  the  bitterness  of  his  re- 
gret, strength  to  live,  to  fight,  and  die,  for  his  own  rights,  for  the 
rights  of  the  crown,  and  for  the  rights  of  his  last  adherents. 

The  parliament  saw  only  in  the  death  of  Strafford  a victory  over 
the  royal  power  and  the  heart  of  the  king.  The  conflicts  between 
the  crown  and  the  House  of  Commons  recommenced  instantly,  upon 
other  pretences  and  demands.  The  king  in  vain  selected  his  minis- 
ters from  the  bosom  of  the  parliament ; he  was  unable  to  discover 
another  Strafford — nature  had  not  made  a duplicate.  Charles  could 
only  choose  between  faithful  m-'diocrity  or  implacable  enmity  ; and 
again  his  enemies,  summoned  by'  the  king  to  his  council  that  he 
might  place  the  government  in  their  hands,  refused  to  attend.  The 
spirit  of  faction  was  so  irresistible  and  irreconcilable  against  the 
crown  that  the  popular  members  of  parliament  felt  themselves  more 
powerful  as  the  heads  of  their  parties  in  the  House  of  Commons 
than  they  could  become  as  ministers  of  a suspected  and  condemned 
sovereign.  The  puritan  party'  in  the  Commons  held  Charles  the 
First  of  England  as  isolated  as  the  Girondins  afterward  held  Louis 
the  Sixteenth  of  France,  in  1791  ; eager  for  government,  yet  refus- 
ing to  be  ministers,  that  they'  might  have  the  right  of  attacking  the 
royal  power,  offered  to  them  in  vain,  or  only  consenting  to  accept 
that  they  might  betray'  it  ; from  adulation  giving  it  into  the  hands  of 
the  people,  or  from  complicity  surrendering  it  into  those  of  the  re- 
publicans. 


18 


OLIVER  CROMWELL, 


Such  was  the  relative  positions  of  the  king  and  the  parliament 
during  the  first  years  when  Cromwell  sat  as  a member  of  the  House 
of  Commons. 

Parhamentary  disputes  had  no  interest  for  Cromwell,  and  purely 
political  agitations  affected  him  but  little.  He  was  not  naturally  fac- 
tious, but  had  become  a sectarian.  Religious  motives  induced  him 
to  aid  the  triumph  of  the  puritan  party  ; not  a desire  to  triumph  over 
the  crown  itseli,  but  over  the  Anglican  and  Roman  Catholic 
Churches  which  the  crown  was  suspected  of  favoring.  All  other 
motives  were  strangers  to  his  austere  nature.  His  feelings,  cold  in 
all  that  related  not  to  religion,  his  just  but  ill-understood  mind,  his 
abrupt  elocution,  without  imagery  or  clearness,  hisambition  bounded 
by  the  success  of  his  co-religionists,  and  actuated  by  no  prospect  ot 
personal  advantage  beyond  the  salvation  of  his  soul,  and  the  service 
of  his  cause,  made  him  abstain  from  taking  a part  m an}'  of  the 
debates.  A silent  member  for  many  sessions,  he  was  only  remark- 
able in  the  House  of  Commons  for  his  abnegation  of  all  personal  im- 
portance, for  his  disdain  of  popular  applause,  and  the  fervor  of  his 
zeal  to  preserve  liberty  of  conscience  to  his  brethren  in  the  faith. 

There  was  certainly  nothing  either  in  Cromwell’s  personal  appear- 
ance or  genius  to  excite  the  attention  of  an  assembly  occupied  by  the 
clo(iuence  of  Strafford  and  Pym.  His  face  was  ordinary,  combining 
the  features  of  a peasant,  a soldier,  and  a priest.  There  might  bo 
seen  the  vulgarity  of  the  rustic,  the  resolution  of  the  warrior,  and  tho 
fervor  of  the  man  of  prayer  ; but  not  one  of  these  characteristics  pre- 
dominated sufficiently  to  announce  a brilliant  orator  or  to  convey  tht 
presage  of  a future  ruler. 

He  was  of  middle  height,  square-chested,  stout-limbed,  with  > 
heavy  and  unequal  gait,  a broad,  prominent  forehead,  blue  eyes,  a 
large  nose,  dividing  his  face  unequally,  somewhat  inclining  to  ths 
left,  and  red  at  the  tip,  like  the  noses  attributed  to  those  addicted  tc 
drink  ; but  which  in  Cromwell  indicated  only  the  asperity  of  his 
blood  heat-cd  b}'  fanaticism.  His  lips  were  wide,  thick,  and  clum- 
sily formed,  indicating  neither  quick  intelligence,  delicacy  of  senti 
ment,  nor  the  fluency  of  speech  imlispensable  to  persuasive  elo- 
quence. His  face  was  moi'e  round  than  oval,  his  chin  was  solid  ane 
prominent,  a good  foundation  for  the  rest  of  his  features.  His  like- 
nesses, as  executed  either  in  painting  or  sculpture,  by  the  most  re 
nowued  Italian  artists,  at  the  order  of  their  courts,  represent  only  a 
vulgar,  commonplace  indiviilual,  if  they  were  not  ennobled  by  the 
name  of  Cromwell.  In  studying  them  attentively,  it  becomes  im- 
possible for  the  most  decided  parfiality  to  discover  either  the  traces  oi 
organs  of  genius.  IVc  acknowledge  there  a man  elevated  by  the 
choice  of  his  party  and  the  combination  of  circumstances  rather  than 
one  great  by  nature.  We  might  even  conclude  from  the  close  in- 
spection of  this  countenance  that  a loftier  and  more  developed  intel- 
lect would  have  interfered  with  his  exalted  destiny  ; for  if  Cromwell 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


16 


had  been  endowed  with  higher  qualities  of  mind  he  would  have 
been  less  of  a sectarian,  and  had  he  been  so,  his  party  would  not 
have  been  exactly  personified  in  a chief  who  participated  in  all  its 
passions  and  credulities.  The  greatness  of  a popular  character  is  less 
according  to  the  ratio  of  his  genius  than  the  sympathy  he  shows  with 
the  prejudices  and  even  the  absurdities  of  his  times.  Fanatics  do 
not  select  the  cleverest,  hut  the  most  fanatical  leaders  ; as  was  evi- 
denced in  the  choice  of  Robespierre  by  the  French  Jacobins,  and  in 
that  of  Cromwell  by  the  English  Puritans. 

The  only  traces  of  the  presence  of  Cromwell  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons for  ten  years,  which  the  parliamentary  annals  retain,  are  a few 
Words  spoken  b}’^  him,  at  long  intervals,  in  defence  of  his  brethren, 
the  puritanic  missionaries,  and  in  attack  of  the  dominant  Anglican 
church  and  the  Roman  Catholics,  wfio  were  again  struggling  for  su- 
premacy. It  might  be  seen,  from  the  attention  paid  by  his  colleagULS 
to  the  sentences  uttered  with  such  religious  fervor  bj'  the  repre- 
sentative of  Huntingdon,  that  this  gentleman  farmer,  as  restrained  in 
speech  as  in  his  desire  of  popularity,  was  treated  in  the  House  with 
that  consideration  which  is  always  shown  in  deliberative  assemblies 
to  those  men  who  are  modest,  sensible,  silent,  and  careless  of  appro- 
bation, but  faithful  to  their  cause. 

A justice  of  the  peace  for  his  county,  Cromwell  returned  after 
each  session  or  dissolution  of  parliament  to  fortify  himself  in  the  re- 
ligious opinions  of  his  puritan  neighbors,  bj’^  interviews  with  the  mis- 
sionaries of  his  faith,  bi"-  sermons,  meditations,  and  prayers,  the  sole 
variations  from  his  agricultural  pursuits. 

The  gentleness,  piety,  and  fervor  of  his  wife,  devoted  like  himself 
to  domestic  cares,  country  pursuits,  the  education  of  her  sons,  and 
affection  for  her  daughiers,  banished  from  his  soul  every  other  am- 
bition than  that  of  spiritual  progress  in  virtue  and  the  advancement 
of  his  faith  in  the  consciences  of  men. 

In  the  whole  of  his  confidential  correspondence  during  these  long 
years  of  domestic  seclusion  there  is  not  one  word  which  shows  that 
he  entertained  any  other  passion  than  that  of  his  creed,  or  any  am- 
bition distinct  from  heavenly  aspirations.  What  advantage  could  it 
have  been  to  this  man  thus  to  conceal  that  hypocrisy  which  histori- 
ans have  described  as  the  foundation  and  master  spring  of  his  char- 
acter? When  the  face  is  unknown  to  all,  of  what  use  is  the  mask? 
No  ! Cromwell  could  not  dissemble  so  long  to  his  wife,  his  sister,  his 
daughters,  and  his  God.  History  has  only  presented  him  in  disguise, 
because  his  life  and  actions  were  distinctly  revealed. 

Let  us  give  a few  extracts  from  the  familiar  letters  which  throw- 
some  light  upon  this  obscure  period  of  his  life  ; 

“ My  very  dear  good  friend,”  wrote  he  from  St.  Ives,  Jan.  11th, 
1635,  to  one  of  his  confidants  in  pious  labors  ; “ to  build  material 
temples  and  hospitals  for  the  bodily  comfort,  and  assembling 


20 


OLIVER  CROilWELL. 


gether  of  the  faithful,  is  doubtless  a good  work  ; but  those  who  build 
up  spiritual  temples,  and  afford  nourishment  to  the  souls  of  their 
brethren,  my  friend,  are  the  truly  pious  men.  Such  a work  have 
you  performed  in  establishing  a pulpit,  and  appointing  Doctor  ‘Wellb 
to  fill  it  ; an  able  and  religious  man,  whose  superior  I have  never 
seen.  I am  convinced  that  since  his  arrival  here,  the  Lord  has  done 
much  among  us.  I trust  that  He  who  has  inspired  you  to  lay  this 
foundation  will  also  inspire  j'ou  to  uphold  and  finish  it. 

“ Raise  your  hearts  to  Him.  You  who  live  in  London,  a city  cel 
ehrated  for  its  great  luminaries  of  the  Gospel,  know  that  to  stop  the 
salarj^  of  the  preacher  is  to  cause  the  pulpit  to  fall.  For  who  wdl  g(, 
to  war  at  his  own  expense  ? I beseech  jmu  then,  by  the  bowels  of 
Jesus  Christ,  put  this  affair  into  a good  train  ; pay  this  worthy  min- 
ister, and  the  souls  of  God’s  children  will  bless  you,  as  1 shall  bless 
you  myself. 

“ I remau'i,  ever  jmur  affectionate 

“ Friend  in  the  Lord, 

“ OLn"EK  Cromwell.” 

It  w'as  not  alone  by  wmrds,  hut  by  contributions  from  his  small  for- 
tune, the  produce  of  hard  and  ungrateful  agricultural  labor,  that 
Cromwell  sustained  the  cause  of  his  faith.  We  read,  three  years 
after  the  date  of  the  above  lines,  in  a confidential  letter  written  to 
Mr.  Hand,  one  of  his  own  sect  : 

“ I wish  you  to  remit  forty  shillings”  (then  a considerable  sum) 
“ to  a poor  farmer  who  is  struggling  to  bring  up  an  increasing  fam- 
ily, to  remunerate  the  doctor  for  his  cure  of  this  man  Benson.  If 
our  friends,  when  we  come  to  settle  accounts,  do  not  agree  to  this 
disposal  of  the  money,  keep  this  note,  and  I will  repay  you  out  of 
my  private  purse. 

“ Your  friend, 

” Olher  Cromwell.” 

‘‘ I live,”  wTote  he,  severa.  years  after,  hut  alwaj-s  in  the  same 
spirit  of  compunction,  to  his  cousin,  the  wdfe  of  the  Attorney-Gen- 
eral St.  John  ; “ I live  in  Kcdar,  a name  which  signifies  shadoic  and 
darkness;  nevertheless  the  Lord  will  not  desert  me,  and  will  finally 
conduct  me  to  his  chosen  place  of  repose,  his  tabernacle.  3Iy  heart 
rests  upon  this  hope  wuth  my  brethren  of  the  first-born  ; and  if  I can 
show  forth  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  either  by  action  or  endurance,  I 
shall  be  greatly  consoled.  Truly  no  creature  has  more  reirson  to  de- 
vote himself  to  the  cause  of  God  than  I have  ; I have  received  so 
many  chosen  graces  that  I feel  I can  never  make  a sufficient  return  for 
all  these  gifts.  That  tlie  Lord  may  be  pleased  to  accept  me  for  the 
sake  of  his  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  and  that  he  may  give  us  grace  to  walk 
in  the  light,  for  it  is  fight  indeed.  I cannot  say  that  he  has  alto- 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


31 


getlier  hid  liis  face  from  me,  for  lie  has  permitted  me  to  see  the  light 
at  least  in  him,  and  even  a single  ray  shed  upon  this  dark  path  is 
most  refreshing.  Blessed  he  his  name  that  shines  even  in  such  a 
dark  place  as  my  soul.  Alas  ! you  know  what  my  life  has  been.  I 
loved  darkness  ; I lived  in  it  ; I hated  the  liglit ; I was  the  chief  of 
sinners  : neverthele.ss  God  has  had  mercy  on  me.  Praise  him  for 
me,  pray  for  me,  that  he  who  has  commenced  such  a change  in  mj 
soul  may  finish  it  for  Jesus  Christ’s  sake.  Tlie  Lord  be  with  you,  h 
the  prayer  of 

“ Your  affectionate  cousin, 

Oliver  CROjrwELL.” 

All  that  we  find  written  hy  the  hand  of  Cromwell  during  this  long 
examination  of  his  life  from  the  age  of  twenty  to  forty,  bears  the 
same  stamp  of  mystici.sm,  sincerity,  and  excitement.  A profound 
melancholy,  enlivened  sometimes  by  momentary  flashes  of  active 
faith,  formed  the  basis  of  his  character.  This  melancholy  was  in- 
creased b}^  the  monotony  of  his  rural  occupations  and  by  the  som- 
bre sky  and  situation  of  the  district  in  which  fortune  had  placed 
him. 

His  house,  still  shown  to  travellers  in  the  low  country  which  sur- 
rounds the  little  hamlet  of  St.  Ives,  bears  the  appearance  of  a desert- 
ed cloister.  The  shadows  of  the  trees,  planted  like  hedges  on  the 
borders  of  his  fields  in  the  marshes,  intercept  all  extent  of  view  from 
the  windows.  A lowering  and  misty  sky  weighs  as  heavily  on  the 
imagination  as  on  the  roofs  of  houses.  Tradition  still  points  out  an 
oratory,  supported  by  broken  arches,  built  of  brick  by  the  devout 
puritan  behind  his  house,  adjoining  the  family  sitting-room,  where 
Cromwell  assembled  the  peasants  of  the  neighborhood  to  listen  to  the 
Word  of  God  from  the  mouths  of  the  missionaries,  and  where  he 
often  prayed  and  preached  himself,  when  the  spirit  moved  him. 
Long  and  deep  lines  of  old  trees,  the  habitations  of  ill-omened  crows, 
bound  the  view  on  all  sides.  These  trees  hide  even  the  course  of 
the  river  Ouse,  whose  blacit  waters,  confined  between  muddy  banks, 
look  like  the  retu.se  from  a manufactory  or  mill.  Above  them 
appears  only  the  smoke  of  the  wood  fires  of  the  little  town  of  St. 
Ives,  which  continually  taints  the  sky  in  this  sombre  valley.  Such  « 
spot  is  calculated  either  to  confine  the  minds  of  its  inhabitants  to  tin, 
vulgar  ideas  of  trafiic,  industry,  or  grazing,  or  to  cause  them  to  raise 
their  thoughts  above  the  earth  in  the  ecstasy  of  pious  contemplation, 

It  was  there,  nevertheless,  that  Cromwell  and  his  young  wife,  who 
modelled  her  own  character  upon  the  simplicity  and  piety  of  her  bus. 
band’s,  brought  up  in  poverty  and  seclusion  their  seven  children. 
They  sought  not  the  world — the  world  sought  them. 

It  maybe  seen  from  all  that  has  been  discovered  relating  to  the  life 
of  Cromwell  at  that  period,  how  much  the  report  of  the  religious 
controversies  in  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland,  and  the  political 


22 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


pamphlets  which  increaserl  with  the  passion  of  the  public,  occupieQ 
his  solitude,  and  with  what  avidity  he  perused  them  ; but  his  atten- 
tion was  entirely  directed  to  the  portions  of  those  writings  which 
were  confined  to  scriptural  arguments. 

The  immortal  name  of  the  great  poet  Milton,  the  English  Dante, 
appeared  for  the  first  time  as  the  author  of  one  of  these  republican 
pamphlets. 

Milton  had  just  returned  from  Italy,  wdierc,  amid  the  ruins  of 
ancient  Rome,  he  had  become  impressed  with  the  grandeur  of  h(;i 
former  liberty  and  the  melancholy  spectacle  of  her  modern  corrup- 
tion. Rome  drove  him  back  to  independent  thought  in  matters  of 
belief.  Milton,  like  Chateaubriand  and  Madame  de  StaPl  in  1814,  has 
given  immortality  to  the  fleeting  passions  of  the  times. 

Independence  in  religious  faith  gave  rise  to  the  desire  of  equal  in- 
dependence in  affairs  of  government.  The  one  necessaril}'  followed 
the  other,  for  how  could  free  opinions  in  faith  be  maintained  in  the 
servitude  which  prevented  the  expression  of  feelings  and  the  practice 
of  a creed  ? The  strong  yearning  of  Cromwell  to  profess  and  ]:«o))a- 
gate  the  doctrines  of  his  belief  inclined  him  to  republican  opinions-. 

Hampden,  his  relative,  then  at  the  height  of  popularity  from  resi.st- 
ance  to  tlie  royal  prerogative,  wishing  to  strengthen  tlie  republican 
party  by  the  accession  of  a man  as  conscientious  and  irreproachable 
in  conduct  as  Cromwell,  procured  his  return  to  parliament  as  mem- 
ber for  Cambridge,  where  Hampden  exercised  irredominant  influ- 
ence. 

This  new  election  of  Cromwell  by  a more  important  count}'  did 
not  distract  his  thoughts  from  the  sole  aim  of  his  life.  “ Send  me,” 
wrote  ire  to  his  friend  Willingham  in  London,  ‘‘the  Scottish  argu- 
ments for  the  maintenance  of  uniformity  in  religion  as  expressed  in 
their  proclamations.  I wish  to  read  them  before  we  enter  upon  the 
debate,  which  will  soon  commence  in  the  House  of  Commons.” 

Popular  interest  was  for  the  moment  mixed  up  with  the  cause  of 
religion.  Cromwell,  without  doubt,  embraced  this  from  attachment 
to  his  sect  and  the  love  of  justice,  and  also  to  bring  the  people  over 
" to  the  side  of  the  republicans  and  independents,  by  that  support 
which  the  popular  cause  found  in  the  adherents  of  this  party  against 
the  encroachments  of  the  crown.  He  contested  the  right  of  inclos- 
ing the  common  lands,  by  adding  them  to  the  fiefs  which  the  kings 
of  England  had  formerly  accorded  to  their  favorites  ; and  this  right 
the  people  with  justice  denied.  ‘‘  Cromwell,”  said  the  prime  minis- 
ter m his  memoirs,  “ who  I never  heard  open  his  mouth  in  the  house, 
has  been  elected  member  of  a par!i:unentary  committee,  charged  with 
addressing  the  ministers  upon  this  subject.  Cromwell  argued  against 
me  in  the  discussion.  He  reproached  me  with  intimidating  the  wit- 
nesses, and  spoke  in  such  a gross  and  indecent  manner,  his  action  was 
so  rough  and  his  attitude  so  insolent,  that  I was  forced  to  adjourn 
die  committee.  Cromwell  will  never  forgive  me. 


OLIVER  CROJnVELL. 


23 


The  popularity  acquii’ed  liy  Cromwell  and  his  party  from  flieir  ad- 
vocacy of  this  cause  encouraged  him  to  increase  It  hy  the  defence  of 
those  bitter  writers  against  the  crown  and  church,  whose  pamphlets 
were  delivered  by  the  king  and  the  bishops  from  time  to  time,  to  be 
burned  by  the  hands  of  the  executioner.  He  presented  a petition  tii 
the  parliament  from  one  of  these  martyrs.  Indignation  and  his 
wounded  conscience  caused  him  for  the  first  time  to  open  his  lips. 

“It  was  in  November,  1040,”  says  a royalist  spectator*  in  his 
memoirs,  “ that  I,  who  was  also  a member,  and  vain  enough  to  think 
myself  a model  of  elegance  and  nobility,  for  we  young  courtiers 
pride  ourselves  on  our  attire,  beheld  on  entering  the  house  a person 
speaking.  I knew  him  not;  he  was  dressed  in  the  most  ordinary 
manner,  in  a plain  cloth  suit  which  appeared  to  have  been  cut  by 
some  village  tailor.  His  linen  too  was  coarse  and  soiled.  I recollect 
also  observing  a speck  or  two  of  blood  upon  his  little  band,  which 
was  not  much  larger  than  his  collar.  His  hat  was  without  a hat- 
band ; his  stature  was  of  a good  size  ; his  sword  stuck  close  to  his 
side  ; his  countenance  swollen  and  reddish  ; his  voice  sharp  and  uu- 
tunable  ; and  his  eloquence  full  of  fervor,  for  the  subject-matter 
would  not  bear  much  of  reason,  it  being  in  behalf  of  a libeller  in  the 
hands  of  the  executioner.  I must  avow  that  the  attention  bestowed 
by  the  assembly  on  the  discourse  of  this  gentleman  has  much  dimin- 
ished my  respect  for  the  House  of  Commons.” 

All  means  of  resistance  and  concession  on  the  part  of  Charles 
toward  his  parliament  being  e.xhausted,  the  presentiment  of  an  inevi- 
table civil  war  weighed  upon  every  breast.  They  prepared  for  it 
more  or  less  openly  on  both  sides. 

Cromwell  profited  by  one  of  those  calms  which  precede  great 
political  tempests,  to  return  home  to  console  his  wife  and  mother, 
and  to  embrace  his  children  at  St.  Ives  before  he  entered  upon  the 
struggle.  He  animated  the  people  of  his  neighorhood  by  his  religious 
ardor,  and  converted  sectarians  into  soldiers.  He  spent  all  his 
household  and  agricultural  savings  in  sending  arms  to  Cambridge. 
He  ventured  even  to  take  possession,  as  a member  of  parliament,  of 
the  castle  there  ; and  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  militia  he  con- 
tiscated  the  Royal  University  plate  which  had  been  deposited  in  the 
castle  treasury.  This  militia  regiment  recognized  him  as  their  colo- 
nel in  right  of  his  membership  ; and  as  he  was  one  of  the  most  re.so- 
lute  of  citizens,  he  also,  by  the  sole  appeal  to  the  feelings  which  they 
possessed  in  common,  raised  the  militia  in  the  country  between 
Cambridge  and  Huntingdon,  intercepted  the  royalists  who  were  about 
to  join  the  king,  and  everywhere  disarmed  the  partisans  of  the 
crown. 

“ I shall  not  harm  you,”  replied  he  at  this  troubled  time,  to  a 
neighboring  gentleman  who  remonstrated  against  the  invasion  of 


* Sir  Philip  Warwick. — Tr. 


24 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


their  homes,  “ for,  on  the  contrary,  I wish  to  save  the  country  frorr 
being  more  torn  to  pieces.  Behave  with  integrit}''  and  fear  nothing  : 
but  if  you  should  act  badly,  then  you  must  forgive  the  rigor  which 
my  duty  toward  the  people  will  force  me  to  exercise.” 

He  did  not  even  spare  the  manor-house  of  his  uncle,  Cromwell  of 
Hinchinbrook,  a ruined  royalist  gentleman  who  lived  in  an  old  keep  in 
the  marshes.  ” The  present  age  is  one  of  contention,”  wrote  he  to 
another  gentleman.  “ The  worst  of  these  struggles  in  my  mind  arc 
those  which  originate  in  differences  of  opinion.  To  injure  men  per- 
.sonally,  either  by  the  destruction  of  their  houses  or  possessions,  can- 
not be  a good  remedy  against  this  evil.  Let  us  protect  the  legitimate 
rights  of  the  people.” 

Associations  for  the  defence  of  independence  and  religion  against 
the  church  and  crown,  were  formed  all  over  England,  but  were  not 
long  before  they  dissolved  from  the  want  of  an  active  chief  and  united 
minds. 

There  only  remained  of  these  associations  the  seven  western  coun- 
ties, of  which  Cromwell  was  the  arm  and  soul.  His  fame  spread, 
over  the  country,  and  began  to  designate  him  a future  chief  of  the 
religious  war.  They  called  him,  in  the  puritanical  assemblies,  the 
Maccabaeus  of  God’s  Church.  ” Continue,”  wrote  Cromwell,  how 
ever,  to  a clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  “ to  read  the  Scrip- 
tures to  the  people,  and  to  preach  in  your  cathedral  as  you  have  been 
accustomed  to  do,  and  even  a little  more  frequently.” 

Thus  Cromwell,  who  had  risen  to  fight  for  liberty  of  faith  for  him- 
self and  his  friends,  protected  that  of  others.  ” You  dismiss  from 
your  troop  an  anabaptist  officer,  ” thus  he  wrote  to  one  of  his  lieuten- 
ants, “ and  in  this  you  are  certainly  badly  advised.  I cannot  under 
stand  how  a deplorable  unbeliever,  known  for  his  irreligiou,  swear 
ing,  and  debauchery,  can  appear  to  you  more  worthy  of  confidence 
than  he  who  shuns  all  these  sins.  Be  tolerant  toward  those  who 
hold  a faith  different  from  your  own.  The  state,  sir,  in  choosing  her 
servants,  thinks  not  of  their  opinions,  but  of  their  actions  and 
fidelity.” 

It  may  be  seen  from  this  that  the  first  acts  of  Cromwell,  precursors 
to  him  of  civil  war  and  future  empire,  were  imbued  with  that  spirit 
of  government  which  drew  partisans  to  his  cause  instead  of  deliver- 
ing up  victims  to  those  Avho  had  already  espoused  it. 

The  association  of  the  seven  counties,  submitting  thus  willingly  to 
the  influence  of  such  an  active  patriot  and  zealous  religionist,  was 
the  stepping-stone  of  Cromwell's  ensuing  popularity.  It  soon  be- 
came the  lever  with  which  the  Long  Parliament  raised  and  sustaineil 
the  civil  war. 

We  have  seen  that  from  day  to  day  this  war  had  become  inevita- 
ble. Scotland,  more  fanatical  even  than  England  through  her  puri- 
tan chiefs,  men  of  ardent  faith  and  sanguinary  di.^positions,  gave  the 
first  signal  of  hostilities.  This  Idugdom,  although  retaining  inde 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


25 


pendent  laws  and  a local  parliament,  still  formed  a part  of  Cflrarles’s 
dominions.  The  spirit  of  revolt,  concealed  as  in  England  under  that 
of  independence  and  opposition,  caused  a Scottish  army  to  advance 
into  the  English  territory,  on  the  pretence  of  defending,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  puritans  and  parliament  of  London,  the  rights  of  the 
two  nations,  which  were  menaced  by  the  crown.  Emboldened  by 
this  support,  the  opposition  orators  in  the  English  legislative  assem- 
bly, and  the  zealous  puritans,  placed  no  bounds  to  their  audacit}'^  and 
encroachments  on  the  royal  prerogative.  Even  the  least  infatuated 
of  the  professors  of  the  new  faith,  such  as  Pym,  Hampden,  and 
Vane,  assumed  the  appearance  of  extreme  partisans.  They  became, 
in  the  eyes  of  the  republicans,  the  Catos,  Brutuses  and  Cassiuses  of 
England,  while  in  the  opinion  of  the  puritans  they  were  consecrated 
as  martyrs.  The  suspicious  susceptibility  of  the  party  was  outraged 
at  beholding  several  Catholic  priests,  who  had  been  brought  from 
France  by  Queen  Henrietta  as  her  spiritual  advisers,  residing  at  the 
court,  and  exercising  in  London  the  ceremonial  duties  of  their  creed. 
They  affected  to  see  a terrible  conspiracy  against  Protestantism  in 
this  harmless  fidelity  of  a young  and  charming  queen  to  the  impres- 
sions of  her  con.science,  and  the  religious  rites  to  which  she  had  been 
accustomed  from  her  youth.  They  accused  the  king  of  weakness,  or 
of  l)eing  an  accomplice  with  the  wife  he  adored. 

Charles,  in  the  spirit  of  peace,  yielded  to  all  these  exigencies.  He 
was  called  upon  to  sanction  a bill  authorizing  the  parliament  to  re- 
assemble of  itself,  in  case  an  interval  of  three  years  should  elapse 
without  the  royal  convocation. 

Until  then  the  annual  or  triennial  meeting  of  parliament  had  been 
more  a custom  than  a privilege  of  English  liberty.  Charles,  in  con 
seuting,  acknowledged  this  representative  sovereignty  as  superior  to 
his  own.  The  parliament,  whose  ambition  was  increased  by  all  these 
concessions  on  the  part  of  the  monarch,  established,  still  with  his 
consent,  the  permanence  of  their  control  and  power  through  a com 
mittee  which  was  always  to  sit  in  London  during  the  interval  between 
the  sessions.  They  also  appointed  another,  to  attend  the  king  in  the 
journey  which  he  undertook  to  conciliate  the  Scotch. 

At  length  they  even  carried  their  audacity  and  usurpation  to  the 
length  of  demanding  the  appointment  of  a protector  of  the  kingdom — 
a kind  of  national  tribune  or  parliamentary  viceroy  raised  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  king  him.self.  It  was  this  title,  thought  of  even  since  that 
time  in  the  delirium  of  party  spirit,  that  was  naturally  bestowed  uiron 
Cromwell  when  the  civil  war  had  made  him  the  ruler  of  his  counfry. 
He  did  not,  as  has  been  imagined,  invent  it  for  his  own  use  ; he 
found  it  already  created  by  the  factions  which  dethroned  the  king. 

During  the  absence  of  the  king  in  Scotland,  Ireland,  left  to  herself 
by  the  recall  of  the  troops  who  had  maintained  peace  there  in 
Charles’s  name,  became  agitated  even  to  revolt  against  the  royal 
authority  The  Irish  Parliament  also  followed  in  its  turbulence  apd 


26 


OLTVEK  CROMWELL. 


encroaclimcnts  the  example  of  the  English  Icgislativ'c  assembly.  Ire- 
land. divided  into  two  classes  and  two  religions,  wdio  had  ever  been 
violently  opposed  to  each  other,  agreed  for  once  unanimously  to 
throw  off  the  yoke  of  the  crown. 

The  Catholics  and  the  old  Irish  of  the  distant  provinces  were  the 
first  to  break  the  league.  They  took  advantage  of  the  feebleness  of 
the  royal  authority  that  sought  to  control  them,  and  perpetrated  a 
more  sanguinary  massacre  than  that  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers,  by 
slaughtering  indiscriminately  all  the  English  colonfsts  who  had  for 
centuries  resided  in  the  .same  villages,  and  who,  by  the  ties  of  friend- 
ship, relationship,  and  marriage,  had  long  been  amalgamated  with 
the  original  inhabitants. 

The  massacres  of  St.  Bartholomew  and  of  the  days  of  September, 
the  Roman  proscriptions  under  Idarius,  or  those  of  France  during  the 
reign  of  terror,  fell  below  the  cruel  atrocities  committed  by  the  Irish 
in  these  counties  ; atrocities  which  cast  a stain  upon  their  character 
and  sully  the  annals  of  their  country. 

The  chiefs  of  this  conspiracy  in  the  province  of  Ulster  even  shucV 
Jered  themselves  at  the  ferocity  of  the  revengeful,  fanatical,  and  in- 
exorable people  they  had  let  loose.  The  feasts  b}-  which  Ihej'  com- 
memorated their  victoiy,  gained  by  assassination,  consisted  of  more 
slow  and  cruel  tortures  tliau  the  imaginations  of  cannibals  ever  con- 
ceived. They  prolonged  the  martyrdom  and  sufferings  of  both  sexes, 
that  they  might  the  longer  revel  in  this  infernal  pastime.  They  caused 
blood  to  fall  drop  bj"  drop,  and  life  to  ebb  by  lengthened  gasps,  that 
their  revengeful  fury  might  be  the  more  indulged.  The  murders 
spread  by  degrees  over  every  district  of  Ireland,  except  Dublin, 
where  a feeble  body  of  royal  troops  preserved  the  peace.  The 
corpses  of  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  victims,  men.  women, 
children,  the  infirm  ami  aged,  strewed  the  thresholds  of  their  habita- 
tions, and  the  fields  that  they  had  cultivated  in  common  with  their 
destroyers.  The  flames  m which  their  villages  were  enveloped  were 
extinguished  onlj'  in  their  blood.  All  who  escaped  by  flight  the  fury 
of  their  assassins,  carrying  their  infants  in  their  arms  to  the  summits 
of  the  mountains,  perished  of  inanition  and  cold  in  the  snows  of 
winter.  Ireland  appeared  to  open,  to  become  the  tomb  of  half  the 
sons  she  had  brought  forth. 

We  cannot  read,  even  in  the  most  impartial  histories,  the  accounts 
of  this  enduring  national  crime  without  a feeling  of  execration 
toward  its  instigators  and  executioners.  , We  can  then  understand 
the  misfortunes  iuflicteil  b}'  Heaven  upon  this  devoted  countr}’. 
Tyranny  can  never  be  justified,  but  a nation  Avhich  has  such  cruelties 
to  exiriate  ought  not  to  accuse  its  oppressors  of  haish  treatment 
without  at  the  same  time  recalling  the  memory  of  its  own  deliiKpien- 
cies.  The  misfortunes  of  a people  do  not  always  proceed  from  the 
crimes  of  their  conquerors  ; they  are  more  frequently  the  punishment 
of  their  own.  These  evils  are  the  most  irremediable,  for  they  sweep 
away  with  them  independence  and  compassion. 


OLIVEE  CROMWELL. 


27 


The  parliament  accused  the  king  as  the  author  of  these  calamities  ; 
the  king  with  more  justice  reproached  the  parliament  as  the  cause  of 
his  inability  to  check  them  The  republican  party  gained  fresh 
strength  in  the  country  from  this  obstinate  and  fruitless  struggle  be- 
tween the  king  and  the  parliamentarians,  which  allowed  the  kingdom 
to  be  torn  to  pieces  and  their  co-religionists  to  be  murdered  by  the 
Catholics.  The  leaders  easily  persuaded  the  parliament  to  issue,  un 
der  the  form  of  a remonstrance,  an  appeal  to  the  people  of  great 
Britain,  which  was  in  fact  a sanguinary  accusation  against  the  royal 
government.  They  therein  set  forth,  in  one  catalogue  of  crime,  all 
the  mistakes  and  misfortunes  of  the  present  reign.  They  accused  the 
kins;  of  every  offence  committed  by  both  parties,  and  accumulated 
upon  his  head  even  the  blood  of  the  English  murdered  in  Ireland  by 
the  Catholics.  They  therefore  concluded,  or  tacitly  resolved,  that 
henceforth  there  was  no  safety  for  England  but  in  the  restriction  of 
the  royal  power  and  the  unlimited  increase  of  the  privileges  of  par. 
liament.  The  king,  driven  to  the  utmost  limits  of  concession,  re- 
plied to  this  charge  in  a touching  but  feeble  attempt  at  justification. 
The  insolence  of  several  members  of  the  House  of  Commons,  which 
burst  forth  in  evident  violation  of  his  dignity  and  royal  prerogative, 
left  him  no  choice  between  the  shameful  abandonment  of  his  title  as 
king  or  an  energetic  vindication  of  his  rights.  He  went  down  him. 
self  to  the  house,  to  cause  the  arrest  of  those  members  who  were 
guilty  of  high  treason,  and  called  upon  the  president  to  point  them 
out. 

“ Sire,”  replied  he,  kneeling,  “ in  the  place  that  I occupy  I have 
only  eyes  to  see  and  a tongue  to  speak  according  to  the  will  of  thp 
house  I serve.  I therefore  humbly  crave  your  Majesty’s  pardon  foi 
venturing  to  disobey  you.” 

Charles,  humiliated,  retired  with  his  guards,  and  repaired  to  Guild 
hall  to  request  the  city  council  not  to  harbor  these  guilty  men.  Th® 
people  only  replied  to  him  on  his  return  with  cries  of  “ Long  live  the 
Parliament.”  The  inhabitants  of  London  armed  themselves  at  the 
scriptural  call,  “To  your  tents,  O Israel  !”  and  passed  proudly  ia 
review  by  land  and  water  under  the  windows  of  Wliitehall,  where  the 
king  resided.  The  king,  powerless,  menaced  and  insulted  by  these 
outbursts,  retired  to  the  palace  of  Hampton  Court,  a solitary  country 
re.sideuce,  but  fortified  and  imposing,  situated  at  some  little  distance 
from  London. 

The  queen,  alarmed  for  her  husband  and  children,  besought  the  king 
to  appease  the  people  by  submission.  All  was  in  vain.  The  parlia- 
ment, which  since  the  retreat  of  the  king  had  become  the  idol  and 
safeguard  of  the  nation,  was  beset  with  inflammatory  petitions. 
Under  the  pretext  of  protecting  the  people  against  the  return  of  the 
royal  army,  they  took  upon  themselves  the  military  authority,  and 
»ppointed  the  generals  of  the  troops  and  governors  of  the  fortified 
places.  Charles,  who  retained  only  a few  partisans  and  followers  at 


88 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


Hampton  Court,  was  resolved  to  declare  war,  but  before  adopting 
this  last  resource  he  conducted  the  queen  to  the  seaside  and  per- 
suaded her  to  embark  for  the  Continent,  that  she,  at  least,  who  was 
dearest  to  him  on  earth,  might  be  secure  from  misfortune  and  the 
evil  pressure  of  the  times. 

The  separation  was  heart-rending,  as  if  they  had  a presentiment  of 
an  eternal  farewell.  The  unfortunate  monarch  adored  the  companion 
of  his  youth,  and  looked  upon  her  as  superior  to  all  other  women. 
He  could  not  suffer  her  to  share  his  humiliations  and  reverses,  and 
desired  to  shield  her  as  much  as  possible  from  the  catastrophe  which 
he  foresaw  w'ould  inevitably  arrive. 

Henrietta  was  carried  fainting  on  board  the  vessel,  and  only  re- 
covered to  utter  reproaches  to  the  waves  which  bore  her  from  tlie 
English  shores,  and  prayers  to  heaven  for  the  safety  of  her  beloved 
partner. 

The  king,  agonized  at  the  loss  of  his  consort,  but  strengthened  in 
courage  I)}'  her  departure,  left  Hampton  Court  and  established  him- 
self m his  most  loyal  city  of  York,  surrounded  by  an  attached  people 
and  devoted  army.  He  took  his  children  with  him. 

The  parliament,  representing  this  act  as  a declaration  of  public 
danger,  raised  an  army  to  oppose  that  of  the  king,  and  gave  the  com- 
mand to  the  Earl  of  Essex.  The  people  rose  at  the  voice  of  the  Com- 
mons, and  each  town  contributed  numerous  volunteers  to  swell  the 
ranks  of  the  republicans. 

Charles,  greater  in  adversity  than  when  on  the  throne,  found  in  a 
decided  course  that  resolution  and  light  which  had  often  failed  him 
in  the  ambiguous  struggles  with  a parliament  which  he  knew  not 
either  how  to  combat  or  subdue.  The  nobility  and  citizens,  less  im- 
pressed than  the  lower  orders  bv’  the  doctrines  of  the  puritans,  and 
less  open  to  the  seductions  of  the  parliamentary  tribunes,  for  the 
most  part  espoused  the  party  of  the  king.  The}'  were  designated 
Camlien.  Loudon  and  the  large  cities,  hotbeds  of  agitation  and 
popular  opinion,  devoted  themselves  to  the  parliament. 

The  Earl  of  Essex,  an  able  but  temporizing  general,  and  more  ex- 
perienced in  regular  M'ar  than  civil  commotion,  advanced  at  the  head 
of  fifteen  thousand  men  against  the  king,  whose  camp  contained  only 
ten  thousand. 

The  first  encounter  (doubtful  in  its  result)  between  the  two  armies, 
proved  only  the  personal  valor  of  the  king.  He  fought  more  like  a 
soldier  than  a monarch,  at  the  head  of  the  foremost  squadrons.  Five 
thousand  slain  on  both  sides  covered  the  field  of  battle.  London 
trembled,  but  recovered  confidence  on  learning  that  the  king  was  too 
much  weakened  by  the  conflict  to  advance  against  the  capital. 

This  first  engagement,  called  the  battle  of  Edge- Hill,  though  glori- 
ous for  the  arms  of  Charles,  decided  nothing.  The  almost  universal 
fanaticism  of  the  nation  augmented  iucessantlj'  the  forces  of  the  p»i 
liament.  The  nobility  and  soldiers  of  the  regular  troops  alone  ‘■g 


OLIVEE  CKOMWELL. 


29 


cruited  the  ranks  of  the  king,  The  royal  cause  was  defended  only 
by  an  army  ; the  cause  of  the  rebels  was  upheld  by  the  nation.  A 
protracted  war  would  exhaust  the  one  while  it  strengthened  the 
other.  “ Let  our  enemies  fight  for  their  ancient  honor,”  exclaimed 
the  republican  Hampden,  in  the  House  of  Commons  ; “we  combat 
for  our  religion.” 

The  French  ambassador  at  Charles  the  First’s  court,  notwith- 
standing his  partiality  for  the  royal  cause,  wrote  thus  to  Cardinal 
Mazarin  : “ I am  astonished  to  behold  how  little  care  the  king  takes 
of  his  life  : unlir’ng,  laborious,  patient  under  reverses,  from  morning 
till  niglit  he  marches  witli  the  infantry,  oftener  on  horseback  than  in 
a carriage.  The  soldiers  appear  to  understand  all  the  wants  and 
distres.ses  of  their  sovereign  ; they  content  themselves  cheerfully 
with  the  little  he  can  do  for  them,  and  without  pay  advance  boldly 
against  troops  better  equipped  and  better  armed  than  themselves.  I 
observe  all  thfs  with  m^^  own  eyes.  This  ijrinco,  in  whom  misfor- 
tune reveals  a dauntless  hero,  shows  himself  the  most  brave  and 
judicious  of  mouarchs,  and  endures  with  fortitude  these  terrible 
vicissitudes  of  politics  and  war.  He  delivers  all  orders  himself,  even 
to  the  most  minute,  and  signs  no  paper  without  the  most  scrupulous 
examination.  Often  he  alights  from  his  horse  and  marches  on  foot 
at  the  head  of  the  army.  He  desires  peace,  but  as  he  sees  that  peace 
has  been  unanimously  rejected,  he  is  compelled  to  have  recourse  to 
war.  I think  he  will  gain  advantages  at  first,  but  his  resources  are 
too  limited  to  allow  of  his  maintaining  them  long.” 

The  king  had  not  even  bread  to  give  his  soldiers,  who  demand- 
ed nothing  from  him  but  food.  The  history  of  these  four  years  of 
unequal  and  erratic  warfare  resembles  more  the  romantic  life  of  an 
adventurer  than  the  majestic  struggle  of  a king  against  rebels,  in  the 
midst  of  Ms  armies  and  people.  “At  one  time,”  says  the  faithful 
follower  who  preserved  a journal  of  this  momentous  period,  “ we 
sleep  in  the  palace  of  a bishop,  at  another  in  the  hut  of  a wood- 
cutter. To-day  the  king  dines  in  the  open  air,  to-morrow  he  has  not 
even  a crust  of  bread  to  eat.  On  Sunday,  at  Worcester,  we  had  no 
dinner  ; it  was  a dreadful  day  ; we  marched  without  tasting  food 
from  six  in  the  morning  until  midnight.  Another  day  we  tnive'led 
for  a long  time  on  foot  in  the  mountains,  and  the  king  tasted  noth- 
ing but  two  small  apples.  We  could  often  procure  no  food  until  two 
in  the  morning.  Wc  lay  down  with  no  shelter  over  us  before  the 
castle  of  Donnington."  Again  the  same  chronicler  says,  “ The  king 
slept  in  his  chariot  on  Bockonnok  heath  ; he  had  not  dined.  The 
next  day  he  breakfasted  with  a poor  widow  on  the  borders  of  a 
forest.” 

The  fortitude  displayed  by  the  king  in  struggling  with  his  misfor 
tunes,  and  his  patient  submission  to  the  same  privations  and  dangers, 
bound  the  soldiers  to  him  by  a feeling  of  personal  attachment.  They 
only  desert  Mngs  who  desert  themselves.  He  resembled  Henry 


30 


OLIVEK  CROMWELL. 


Quatre,  fighting  for  his  kingdom  with  the  same  courage,  hut  with 
unequal  fortune.  The  sight  of  this  constancy  and  resignation  in- 
duced even  some  of  his  enemies  in  the  countries  they  passed  through 
to  join  the  royal  cause.  One  of  them  named  Roswell  deserted  the 
parliamentary  army,  and  joined  the  inferior  forces  of  the  king.  Being 
taken  prisoner  by  the  republicans,  they  interrogated  him  as  to  his 
motives  for  this  defection.  “ I passed,”  replied  Roswell,  “ along  a 
road  which  bordered  the  heath,  where  King  Charles,  surrounded  only 
by  a few  faithful  subjects,  was  seated,  dividing  a morsel  of  bread  with 
his  followers.  I approached  from  curiosity,  and  was  so  struck  by 
tlie  gravity,  sweetness,  patience,  and  majesty  of  this  prince,  that  the 
impression  dwelt  in  my  breast  and  induced  me  to  devote  my'self  to 
his  cause.” 

Charles  concealed  his  feelings  from  his  soldiers  and  attendants,  lest 
he  should  display  in  the  king  the  more  permissible  weakness  of  the 
man.  One  day,  when  he  beheld  Lord  Litchfield,  one  of  his  most 
faithful  and  intrepid  companions  in  arras,  fall  at  his  feet,  struck  mor- 
tally by  a cannon-ball,  he  continued  to  give  his  orders  and  to  fighi 
with  an  appearance  of  insensibility'  which  deceived  everybody'. 
After  having  secured  the  retreat  and  saved  'die  array'  by'  taking  the 
command  of  the  rear  guard,  he  ordered  the  troops  to  encamp,  and 
then  shut  himself  up  in  his  tent  to  consider  the  operations  of  the 
morrow.  He  spent  the  night  alone,  writing,  but  his  servants,  on  en- 
tering his  tent  at  day'break,  perceived  from  his  still  moist  ey'cs  that  a 
portion  of  the  time  at  least  had  been  occupied  in  weeping  for  Litch- 
field. 

While  Cromwell,  his  antagonist,  who  then  fought  against  the  king 
under  Essex,  spoke  and  acted  with  such  mystical  e.xcitcmeut  that, 
according  to  the  writers  of  the  day,  many'  looked  upon  this  enthu- 
siasm of  religion  as  the  effect  of  inebriety,  Charles,  as  became  a man 
who  was  grappling  with  misfortune,  exhibited  his  recovered  majesty' 
by  imperturbable  serenity.  “Never,”  w'rote  one  of  his  generals, 
“ have  I beheld  him  exalted  by'  success  or  depressed  by' reverses.  The 
equality  of  his  soul  appears  to  defy  fortune,  and  to  rise  superior  to 
circumstances.” 

“ He  often,”  says  another  writer,  “ rode  the  whole  night,  and  at 
break  of  day  galloped  up  to  the  summit  of  some  hill  that  he  might 
examine  the  position  or  movements  of  the  parliamentary'  army.” 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  he  one  day'  to  a small  group  of  cavaliers  who 
follow'ed  him,  “ it  is  morning  ; y'ou  had  better  separate,  y'ou  have 
beds  and  families.  It  is  time  you  should  seek  repose.  I have  neither 
house  nor  home  ; a fresh  horse  awaits  me,  and  he  and  1 must  march 
incessantly'  by  day  and  night.  If  God  has  made  me  suffer  sufScient 
evils  to  try  my'  patience,  he  has  also  given  me  patience  to  support 
these  inflictions.” 

“Thus,”  said  a poet  of  the  age,  “did  he  struggle  for  the  main- 
tenance of  his  rights  ; he  rowed  on  w'ithout  a haven  of  *-efuge  ic 


OLIVEK  CROMWELL.  31 

view.  War  increased  the  greatness  of  this  king,  not  for  the  throne 
out  for  posterity.  ” 

Our  limits  will  not  permit  us  to  follow  all  the  various  changes  of 
fortune  that  occurred  during  this  four  years’  war  between  the  king 
and  his  people  ; the  longest,  the  most  dramatic,  and  the  most  diver- 
sified of  all  civil  contests.  Cromwell,  who  at  the  beginning  com- 
manded a regiment  of  volunteer  cavalry  in  Essex’s  army,  raised  among 
his  Huntingdon  confederates,  grew  rapidly  in  the  opinion  of  the  whole 
camp,  from  the  religious  enthusiasm  by  which  he  was  animated,  and 
which  he  communicated  to  the  soldiers.  Less  a warrior  than  an 
ipostle,  he  sought  martyrdom  upon  the  field  of  battle  rather  than  vic- 
tory. Neither  success,  reverses,  promotion,  nor  renown,  diverted 
him  from  the  one  absorbing  passion  of  his  soul  during  this  holy  war. 

The  Earl  of  Essex,  Lord  Fairfax,  Waller,  Hampden,  and  Falkland, 
fought,  yielded,  or  died,  some  for  their  prince,  and  others  for  their 
country  and  their  faith  ; Cromwell  alone  never  sustained  a defeat. 
Elevated  by  the  parliament  to  the  rank  of  general,  he  strengthened 
his  own  division  by  weeding  and  purifying  it.  He  cared  little  for 
numbers,  provided  his  ranks  were  filled  with  fanatics.  By  sanctify- 
ing thus  the  cause,  end,  and  motives  of  the  war,  he  raised  his  sol- 
diers above  common  humanity,  and  prepared  them  to  perform  im- 
possibilities. The  historians  of  both  sides  agree  in  allowing  that  this 
religious  enthusiasm  inspired  by  Cromwell  in  the  minds  of  his  troops 
transformed  a body  of  factionaries  into  an  army  of  saints.  Victory 
invariably  attended  his  encounters  with  the  king’s  forces.  On  ex 
amiuing  and  comparing  his  correspondence,  as  we  have  already  done, 
at  the  various  dates  of  his  military  life,  we  find  that  this  piety  of 
Cromwell  was  not  an  assumed  but  a real  enthusiasm.  His  letters 
show  the  true  feelings  of  the  man  in  the  leader  of  his  party  ; and  the 
more  convincingly  as  they  are  nearly  all  addressed  to  his  wife, 
sisters,  daughters,  and  most  intimate  friends.  Let  us  look  over  them, 
for  each  of  these  letters  is  another  stroke  of  the  pencil  to  complete 
the  true  portrait  of  this  characteristic  hero  of  the  times. 

First,  we  must  give  a description  of  his  troops. 

“ The  puritan  soldiers  of  Cromwell  are  armed  with  all  kinds  of 
weapons,  clothed  in  all  colors,  and  sometimes  in  rags.  Pikes,  hal- 
berds, and  long  straight  swords  are  ranged  side  by  side  with  pistols 
and  muskets.  Often  he  causes  his  troops  to  halt  that  he  may  preach 
to  them,  and  frequently  they  sing  psalms  while  performing  their  ex- 
ercise. The  captains  are  heard  to  cry,  'Present,  fire  ! in  the  name 
of  the  Lord!'  After  calling  over  the  muster-roll,  the  officers  read  a 
portion  of  the  New  or  Old  Testament.  Their  colors  are  covered  witii 
symbolical  paintings  and  verses  from  the  Scriptures.  They  march  tq 
the  Psalms  of  David,  while  the  royalists  advance  singing  loose  bac- 
chanalian songs.  ’ ’ 

The  license  of  the  nobility  and  cavaliers  composing  the  king's 
regular  troops  could  not  prevail,  notwithstanding  their  bravery- 


32 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


against  these  martyrs  for  their  faith.  The  warriors  who  believe 
tliemselves  the  soldiers  of  God  must  sooner  or  later  gain  the  victory 
jver  those  who  are  only  the  servants  of  man.  Cromwell  was  the  first 
to  feel  this  conviction,  and  predicted  the  fulfilment,  after  the  first 
battles,  in  a letter  to  his  wife. 

“ Our  soldiers,”  wrote  he  the  day  after  an  engagement,  “ were  in 
a state  of  exhaustion  and  lassitude  such  as  I have  never  before  be- 
held, but  it  pleased  God  to  turn  the  balance  in  favor  of  this  handful 
of  men.  Notwithstanding  the  disparity  of  numbers,  we  rushed  horse 
against  horse,  and  fought  with  sword  and  pistol  for  a considerable 
time.  We  obliged  the  enemy  to  retreat,  and  pursued  them.  I put 
their  commander  (the  young  Lord  Cavendish,  twenty-three  years  of 
age,  and  the  flower  of  the  court  and  army)  to  flight  as  far  as  the 
borders  of  a marsh,  where  his  cavalry  fell  into  the  mire,  and  mj" 
lieutenant  killed  the  young  nobleman  himself  Iw  a sword-thru.st  in  his 
short  ribs.  We  owe  this  day’s  victory  more  to  God  than  to  any 
human  power.  May  he  still  be  with  us,  in  what  remains  to  do  1” 

lie  bestowed  his  fortune  as  well  as  his  energies  upon  the  cause 
which  he  considered  sacred.  ‘‘  I declare,”  he  wrote  in  the  second 
j’ear  to  his  cousin  tit.  John,  “ that  the  war  in  Ireland  and  England 
has  already  cost  me  1200(. ; this  is  the  reason  why  I can  no  longer 
with  my  private  purse  assist  the  public  treasuiy.  I have  bestowed 
on  the  cause  my  fortune  and  my  faith.  I put  my  trust  in  God,  and 
for  bis  name  I would  w'illingly  lose  mj^  life.  My  companions,  sol- 
diers, and  family  would  all  do  the  same.  My  troops  are  dailj’^  aug- 
mented by  men  that  you  would  esteem  if  j'ou  knew’  them — all  true 
and  exemplary  believers.”  These  soldiers  were  called  “ Tro/rsides, ” 
in  allusion  to  their  imperturbable  confidence  in  God. 

“ My  soldiers  do  not  make  an  idol  of  me,”  said  he  in  another 
letter  to  the  president  of  the  parliament  ; ” 1 can  say  truly  that  it  is 
not  upon  me  but  upon  you  that  their  eyes  are  fixed,  ready  to  fight 
and  die  for  your  cause.  They  are  attached  to  their  faith,  not  to  their 
leader.  We  seek  only  the  glory  of  the  Most  High.  The  Lord  is 
our  strength  ; pray  for  us,  and  ask  our  friends  to  do  so  also.” 

“ They  say  that  w’e  are  factious,”  said  he  some  days  after  to  a 
friend,  “ and  that  we  seek  to  propagate  our  religious  opinions  by 
force,  a proceeding  that  we  detest  an(f  abhor.  I declare  that  I could 
not  reconcile  myself  to  this  war  if  1 did  not  believe  that  it  was  to  se- 
cure the  maintenance  of  our  law’ful  rights,  and  in  this  just  quarrel  1 
hope  to  prove  nyself  honest,  sincere,  and  upright.” 

‘‘Excuse  me  if  I am  troublesome;  but  I w’rite  rarely,  and  this 
letter  affords  me  an  opportunity,  in  the  midst  of  the  calumnies  by 
which  we  are  misrepresented,  of  pouring  my  feelings  into  the 
bosom  of  a friend.” 

He  relates  next  to  his  colleague,  Fairfax,  an  encounter  that  took 
place  betw’een  his  troops  and  an  assembly  of  Cliibmen,  a neutral  but 
armed  party,  whose  patriotic  feelings  induced  them  to  unite  and 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


33 


throw  themselves  between  the  parliamentarians  and  royalists,  that 
they  might  save  their  country  from  the  calamities  which  stained  it 
with  blood. 

“ Having  assured  them,”  wrote  Cromwell,  “ that  we  were  only  de 
sirous  of  peace,  and  that  we  firmly  intended  to  put  a stop  to  all  vio- 
lence and  pillage,  I sent  back  their  deputies,  charging  them  to  trans- 
mit my  message  to  their  employers.  They  fired  on  my  troops,  where 
upon  I charged  theirs,  and  we  made  several  hundred  prisoners.  Al- 
though  they  had  treated  some  captives  of  our  party  with  cruelty,  I 
looked  upon  them  as  idiots,  and  set  them  at  liberty.” 

There  had  long  ceased  to  be  any  communication  between  the  two 
extreme  parties  that  divided  the  kingdom.  The  royalists  refused  to 
temporize  with  a parliament  that  fought  against  its  kiug.  The  par- 
liamentarians had  become  republican  upon  logical  principles,  having 
originally  been  factious  from  anger.  The  biblical  texts  against 
kings,  commented  upon  by  the  puritans  in  town  and  country,  made 
the  people  and  the  army  all  republicans  ; and  thus  republican  doc- 
trines thenceforth  became  a part  of  the  religion  of  the  people.  Crom- 
well, naturally  indifferent  to  controversies  purely  political,  could  not 
assure  the  triumph  of  his  own  faith  without  associating  it  with  the 
popular  government.  The  established  Church  of  England  an  j the 
monarchy  were  one,  in  the  person  of  Charles  and  every  other  sovereign 
of  his  race.  The  only  safeguard  of  the  puritans  was  republicanism. 
The  clear  sense  of  Cromwell  made  him  decide  upon  dethromug  the 
house  of  Stuart  and  establishing  the  Reign  of  God. 

His  conviction  soon  rendered  him  insensible  to  all  spirit  of  pacifi- 
cation.  He  marched  from  victory  to  victory,  and,  although  he  did 
not  yet  assume  the  actual  title  of  Lord-General-in-Chief  of  the  parlia-' 
mentary  army,  he  possessed  all  the  authority  of  the  office  which 
public  opinion  could  bestow  upon  him.  The  parliament  was  only 
victorious  where  he  fought,  and  he  ascribed  to  God  the  praise  and 
glory  of  his  successes.  “ Sir,”  wrote  he,  after  the  taking  of  Worces- 
ter and  Bristol,  ‘ ‘ this  is  a fresh  favor  conferred  on  us  by  Heaven. 
You  see  that  God  does  not  cease  to  protect  us,  I again  repeat,  the 
Lord  be  praised  for  this,  for  it  is  his  work.” 

All  his  dispatches  and  military  notes  show  the  same  confidence  in 
the  divine  intervention.  “ Whoever  peruses  the  account  of  the  battle 
of  Worcester,”  said  he  in  concluding  his  narrative  of  this  event, 

‘ ‘ must  see  that  there  has  been  no  other  hand  in  it  but  that  of  God 
He  must  be  an  atheist,”  added  fie  with  enthusiasm,  “who  is  noi. 
convinced  of  this.  Remember  our  soldiers  in  your  prayers  It  ]S 
their  joy  and  recompense  to  think  that  they  have  been  instrumental 
to  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of  their  country.  He  has 
deigned  to  make  use  of  them,  and  those  who  are  employed  in  this 
great  work  know  that  faith  and  prayer  alone  have  enabled  them  to 
gain  these  towns.  Presbyterians,  puritans,  independents,  all  are  in- 
spired with  the  same  spirit  of  faith  and  prayer,  asking  the  same 


34 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


things,  and  obtaining  them  from  on  high.  All  are  agreed  in  this 
What  a pity  it  is  that  they  are  not  equally  unanimous  in  politics  It 
spiritual  things  we  employ  toward  our  brethren  no  other  constraint 
than  that  oT  reason.  As  to  other  matters,  God  has  placed  the  swore 
in  the  hands  of  the  parliament  to  the  terror  of  those  who  do  evil. 
Should  any  one  try  to  wrest  this  weapon  from  them,  I trust  they  may 
oe  confounded.  God  preserve  it  in  your  hands.” 

In  the  interval  between  the  campaigns,  Cromwell  had  married  two 
of  his  daughters  ; the  youngest  and  dearest  was  united  to  the  repub- 
lican Ireton.  She  was  called  Bridget.  Her  enlightened  intellect  and 
fervent  piety  made  her  the  habilual  confidant  of  all  her  father’s  relig- 
ious feelings.  We  ma^’  trace  in  some  scraps  of  his  letters  to  this 
young  female  the  constant  preoccupation  of  his  mind. 

‘‘  I do  not  write  to  your  husband,  because  he  replies  by  a thousand 
letters  to  every  one  that  I address  to  him.  This  makes  him  sit  up  too 
late  ; besides,  I have  many  other  things  to  attend  to  at  present. 

“ Your  sister  Claypolc  (his  eldest  daughter)  is  laboring  under 
troubled  thoughts.  She  sees  her  own  vanity  and  the  evils  of  her  car- 
nal spirit,  and  seeks  the  only  thing  which  will  give  her  peace.  Seek 
also,  and  you  will  gain  the  first  place  next  to  those  who  have  found  it. 
Every  faithful  and  humble  soul  who  struggles  to  gain  such  peace 
will  assuredly  find  it  in  the  end.  Happy  are  those  who  seek  ; thrice 
happy  are  those  who  find  ! Who  has  ever  experienced  the  grace  of 
God  without  desiring  to  feel  the  fulness  of  its  joy  ? My  dear  love, 
pray  fervently  that  neither  your  husband  nor  anything  in  the  world 
may  lessen  your  love  for  Christ.  I trust  that  your  husband  may  be 
to  you  an  encouragement  to  love  him  more  and  serve  him  better. 
What  you  ought  to  love  in  him  is  the  image  of  Christ  that  he  bears 
in  his  person.  Behold  that,  prefer  that,  and  love  all  else  onl}-  for  the 
sake  of  that.  Farewell  ; I pray  for  you  and  him  ; pray  for  me.” 

Is  this  the  style  of  a crafty,  hypocritical  jmlitician,  who  would  not 
even  unmask  himself  before  his  favoiiie  daughter?  and  whose 
most  familiar  family  confidences  are  to  be  considered  unworth 3'  tricks 
to  deceive  a world,  not  likel}*  to  read  them  during  his  lifetime? 

This  mysticism  was  not  confined  to  the  general,  but  imbued  the 
heai'ts  of  the  whole  armv.  ‘‘  While  we  were  digging  the  mine  under 
the  castle” — thus  he  writes  at  a later  period  from  Scotland — “iMr, 
Stapleton  preached,  and  the  soldiers  who  listened  expressed  their 
coinpunction  by  tears  and  groans.” 

“ This  is  a glorious  day,”  said  he  after  the  victorv'  of  Preston  , 
‘ God  grant  that  England  may  prove  worth}'  of  and  grateful  for  his 
mercies.”  And  after  another  defeat  of  the  ro3'ahsis,  in  a letter  to  his 
cousin  St.  John,  he  says,  as  if  he  were  overcome  with  gratitude  : ‘‘  I 
cannot  speak  ; I can  say  nothing  but  that  the  Lord  my  God  is  a great 
and  glorious  God,  and  he  alone  deserves  by  turns  our  fear  and  confi- 
dence. We  ought  always  to  feel  that  he  is  present,  and  that  he  will 
never  fail  his  people.  Let  all  that  breathe  praise  the  Lord.  Remem- 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


35 


ber  me  to  my  dear  father,  Henry  Vane  ’ (liis  parliamentary  colleague, 
who  was  inflamed  by  the  same  religious  and  republican  zeal) ; “ may 
God  protect  us  both.  Let  us  not  care  for  the  light  in  which  men 
regard  our  actions  ; for  whether  they  think  well  or  ill  of  them  is 
according  to  the  will  of  God  ; and  we,  as  the  benefactors  of  future 
ages,  shall  enjoy  our  reward  and  repose  in  another  world  ; a world 
that  will  endure  forever.  Care  not  for  the  morrow,  or  for  anything 
else.  The  Scriptures  are  my  great  support.  Eead  Isaiah,  chapter 
viii.  verses  11,  14.  Read  the  entire  chapter. 

“ One  of  my  poor  soldiers  died  at  Preston.  On  the  eve  of  the 
battle  he  was  ill,  and  near  his  last  moments  ; he  besought  his  wife, 
who  was  cooking  in  his  room,  to  bring  him  a handful  of  herbs.  She 
(lid  so,  and  holding  the  green  vegetable  in  his  hand,  he  asked  her  if 
it  would  wither  now  that  it  was  cut.  ‘ Yes,  certainly,’  replied  the 
poor  woman.  ‘Well,  remember  then,’  said  the  dying  man,  ‘that 
such  will  be  the  fate  of  the  king’s  army  ;’  and  he  expired  with  this 
prophecy  on  his  lips.” 

Cromwell  called  the  civil  war  an  appeal  to  God.  He  defended  the 
parliament  against  those  who  reproached  them  for  having  carried  the 
revolt  too  far,  and  asserted  that  they  had  been  actuated  by  religious 
motives  alone.  He  endeavored  to  rouse  his  friends  from  the.r  hesita- 
tion and  dislike  of  war,  by  impressing  them  with  the  sanctity  of  their 
mission.  This  Mahomet  of  the  North  was  endowed,  under  adverse 
circumstances,  with  the  same  unfailing  resignation  as  the  Mahomet 
of  the  East.  'Tlie  character  of  martyr  became  him  as  readily  as  that 
of  vietor.  He  had  made  himself  the  popular  idol  at  the  conclusion 
of  these  years  of  conflict,  but  never  was  he  for  an  instant  intoxicated 
by  vainglory.  ‘‘  You  see  this  crowd,”  said  he  in  a low  voice  to  his 
friend  Vane,  on  the  day  of  his  triumphant  entry  into  London  ; ‘‘  there 
would  have  been  a much  greater  assemblage  to  see  me  hanged  !” 

His  heart  w'as  on  earth  ; his  glory  above.  Nobody  could  govern 
the  people  better  ; and  in  governing  ho  did  not  think  he  had  the 
right  to  despise  them,  for  the  lowest  are  God’s  creatures.  He  merely 
desired  to  rule  that  he  might  serve  them.  He  cared  not  for  perma- 
nent empire  ; he  had  no  desire  to  found  a dynasty.  He;  was  nothing 
more  than  an  interregnum.  God  removed  him  Avhen  he  had  achieved 
his  work  and  established  his  faith  by  assuring  the  right  of  liberty  of 
conscience  to  the  people. 

In  the  mean  time  the  bravery  of  the  king  a.  d the  fidelity  of  his 
partisans  prolonged  the  struggle  with  varied  success. 

The  queen,  impatient  again  to  behold  her  husband  and  children, 
had  returned  to  England  with  reinforcements  from  Holland  and 
France.  The  admiral  who  commanded  the  parliamentary  fleet,  not 
having  been  able  to  prevent  the  disembarkation  of  the  queen,  ap- 
proached the  coast  on  which  she  had  landed,  and  fired  during  the 
whole  night  at  the  cottage  which  served  as  an  asylum  for  the  heroic 
Henrietta.  She  was  obliged  to  escape  half  clothed  from  the  ruins  of 


36 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


the  hut,  and  seek  shelter  behind  a iiill  from  the  artillery  of  her  own 
subjects.  Slie  at  length  joined  the  king,  to  whom  love  imparted 
fresh  courage. 

In  a battle  with  equal  forces  at  IVIarston  Moor,  Charles  commanded 
in  person  against  the  army  led  by  Cromwell.*  Fifty  thousand  men, 
children  of  the  same  soil,  dyed  their  native  land  with  blood  ! The 
king,  who,  during  the  early  part  of  the  day,  was  victorious,  in  the 
evening  being  abandoned  by  his  principal  generals  and  a portion  of 
his  troops,  was  forced  to  retire  into  the  North. 

During  the  retreat  he  vent  ured  to  attack  the  Earl  of  Esse.x,  gen- 
eralissimo of  the  parliament,  who,  being  surprised  and  vanquished, 
embarked  and  returned  to  London  without  his  aimy. 

The  parliament,  after  the  example  of  the  Romans,  thanked  their 
general  for  not  having  despaired  of  his  country,  and  appointed  him 
to  the  command  of  fresh  levies.  Essex,  reinforced  by  Cromwell  and 
the  Earl  of  Manchester,  routed  the  king  at  Newbury  ; but,  though 
victorious,  he  became  weary  of  the  dissensions  which  existed  in  the 
army,  and  was  replaced  by  Fairfax,  a model  of  patriotism  and  a hero 
in  battle,  j^et  incapable  of  directing  war  on  a grand  scale.  The  mod- 
esty of  Fairfax  induced  him  to  ask  for  Cromwell  as  his  lieutenant 
and  adviser.  These  two  chiefs  united  deprived  the  king  of  all 
hopes  of  reconquering  England,  and  scarcely  left  him  the  choice  of  a 
field  of  battle  Fairfax,  Cromwell,  and  Ireton,  CromwelFs  son-in- 
law,  attacked  and  vanquished  the  royal  forces  at  Naseby.  The  rem 
nants  of  Charles’s  last  supporters  were  successively  destroyed  '03' 
Fairfax  and  Cromwell. 

While  England  was  thus  gliding  rapidlj-  from  the  grasp  of  the 
king,  a j'oung  hero,  the  Earl  of  idontrose,  raised  bj'  a chivalric  com- 
bination the  roj'alist  cause  in  Scotland,  and  gained  a battle  against 
the  puritans  of  that  kingdom.  Montrose’s  brave  mountaineers,  more 
qualified,  like  our  own  vendeans,  for  dashing  exploits  than  regular 
campaigns,  having  dispersed  after  the  victorj'  to  visit  their  families, 
he  was  attacked  b}'  the  puritans  during  their  absence,  and  lost  in  one 
day  all  that  he  had  gained  in  manj'  gallant  actions.  He  was  obliged 
to  take  refuge  in  the  mountains,  and  hide  himself  from  his  enemies 
under  various  disguises  ; but  the  remarkable  beautj'  of  his  features 
betrayed  him  ; he  was  recognized,  taken  prisoner,  and  ignominiously 
e.xecuted.  His  death  was  as  sublime  as  his  enterprise  had  been 
heroic.  He  died  a mart3'r  of  fidelit3'  to  his  king,  as  while  living  he 
had  been  his  firmest  friend. 

Charles,  who  now  onh'  retained  about  his  person  a handful  of 
cavaliers,  wrote  to  his  wife  that  as  he  could  no  longer  fight  as  a 
king  he  wished  to  die  like  a soldier.  He  once  more  compelled  the 
queen,  his  only  object  of  anxiet3',  to  embark  for  the  Continent,  and 


♦ This  is  a mistake.  Charles  was  not  preseut  at  Marston  Moor,  and  Fairfas,  not 
Cromwell,  commanded  in  chief  on  the  side  of  the  parliament.— Tb. 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


37 


succeeded  in  conducting  the  wreck  of  his  army  to  Oxford.  He  left 
that  place  in  the  night,  by  a secret  portal,  accompanied  onlj^  by  three 
gentlemen,  and  reached  without  being  recognized  the  summit  of 
Harrow-on-the-Hill,  from  whence  he  for  a long  time  contemplated  his 
capital,  deliberating  whether  he  should  enter  the  city  and  throw 
himself  upon  the  mercy  of  the  parliament,  or  embarrass  them  by  his 
presence.  Then  changing  his  mind,  he,  with  a slender  hope,  pro- 
ceeded to  join  the  Scottish  army,  acting  in  alliance  with  his  enemies, 
but  which  had  not,  as  yet,  like  the  English,  totally  abjured  their 
fidelity  to  the  crown. 

The  generals  of  the  Scottish  forces,  astonished  at  his  arrival,  and 
not  daring  at  first  to  deceive  his  confidence,  received  him  with  the 
uonors  due  to  their  sovereign,  and  appointed  him  a guard,  intended 
more  to  watch  than  to  defend  him.  These  outward  distinctions  ill 
concealed  the  fact  of  his  captivity.  Negotiations  were  again  opened 
lietween  Charles  and  the  parliament.  The  conditions  proposed  by 
the  latter  actually  involved  the  abdication  of  the  throne,  and  antici- 
pated the  constitution  of  1791,  imposed  by  the  legislative  assembly 
and  the  Jacobins  upon  Louis  the  Sixteenth.  The  king  refused  to 
agree  to  them. 

During  these  negotiations,  the  Scottish  army  in  the  most  base  and 
treacherous  manner  sold  the  liberty  of  the  prince  who  had  trusted  to 
their  honor,  and  consented  to  deliver  him  up  to  the  parliament  for 
the  sum  of  three  millions  sterling  ;*  a Jewish  traffic  which,  from  that 
day  to  this,  has  been  an  enduring  stigma  on  the  name  of  Scotland. 

The  Scottish  parliament  at  first  refused  to  ratify  the  bargain,  but 
the  popular  and  fanatical  party  of  their  own  clergymen  compelled 
them  to  do  so.  Charles  the  First  vras  playing  at  chess  in  his  room 
at  the  moment  when  they  brought  the  dispatch  which  deprived  him 
of  the  last  illusion  he  had  indulged  in  with  regard  to  his  fate.  He 
had  become  from  habitual  adversity  so  resigned,  and  possessed  such 
command  over  himself,  that  he  continued  his  game  with  undimin- 
ished attention,  and  without  even  a change  of  color,  so  that  the 
spectators  began  to  doubt  if  it  were  really  the  order  for  his  arrest  that 
he  had  perused. 

Delivered  up  that  evening  by  the  Scotch  to  the  parliamentary  com- 
missioners, he  traversed  as  a captive,  but  without  insult,  and  even 
amid  tokens  of  respect  and  the  tears  of  the  people,  the  counties  which 
separated  Scotland  from  Holmby,  the  place  chosen  as  his  prison.  He 
there  endured  a confinement  often  rigorous  even  to  brutality.  The 
parliament  and  army,  who  were  already  at  variance,  disputed  the 
possession  of  the  prisoner.  Cromwell,  who  had  excited  in  the  troop* 
a fanaticism  equal  to  his  own,  and  who  feared  lest  the  parliament, 
cow  master  of  the  king’s  person,  should  enter  into  a compromise 
with  royalty  fatal  to  the  interests  of  the  republic,  the  only  guarantee 


* M.  de  Lamartine  hae  mistaken  the  sum,  whieh  did  not  exceed  £500,000.— Ta. 


38 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


in  his  opinion  for  the  security  of  the  puritan  faith — withojt  the 
knowledge  of  Fairfax,  his  immediate  commander,  sent  one  of  his 
officers  at  the  head  of  five  hundred  cliosen  men  to  carry  off  the  king. 
Charles,  who  foresaw  a worse  fate  at  the  hands  of  the  soldiers  than 
of  the  people,  vainly  attempted  to  resist  the  emissary  and  orders  of 
Cromwell.  At  length  he  yielded,  and  reluctantly  submitted  to  his 
new  jailers.  He  was  tuen  conducted  to  the  army,  in  the  close  vicinity 
of  Cambridge. 

The  parliament,  indignant  at  this  assumptive  authority  on  the  part 
of  the  army,  demanded  that  the  king  should  be  delivered  up  to  them. 
The  army,  already  accustomed  to  place  itself  above  the  civil  power, 
declared  rebelliously  against  the  parliament  and  Fairfax,  in  favor  of 
Cromwell,  whom  they  placed  at  their  head,  and  marched  upon  Lon- 
don, forcing  their  generals  to  accompany  them.  The  parliament,  in- 
timidated, stopped  their  advance  at  the  gates  of  the  capital,  by  con- 
ceding all  their  demands. 

Fi'om  that  daj",  the  parliament  became  as  much  subjugated  by  the 
army  as  the  king  had  formerly  been  controlled  by  the  parliament, 
and  sank  into  the  mere  tool  of  Cromwell.  He  himself  purged  the 
legislative  assembly  of  those  members  who  had  shown  the  greatest 
opposition  to  the  troops.  Cromwell  and  Fairfax  treated  the  king 
with  more  consideration  than  the  parliamentary  commissioners  had 
shown.  They  permitted  him  to  see  his  wife  and  younger  children, 
who  until  then  had  been  retained  in  London.  Cromwell,  himself  a 
father,  being  present  at  the  interview  between  Charles  and  his  family, 
shed  tears  of  emotion.  At  that  moment  the  man  triumphed  over 
the  sectarian.  Up  to  that  time  he  believed  that  his  cause  required 
only  the  dethronement,  not  the  sacrifice  of  the  king.  He  showed 
toward  his  captive  all  the  respect  and  compassion  compatible  with 
his  safe  custody.  He  always  spoke  with  the  tendere.st  admiration  of 
Charles’s  personal  virtues,  and  the  amiable  light  in  which  he  shone 
forth  as  a husband  and  a parent. 

Charles,  touched  by  this  respect,  and  holding  even  in  prison  a 
shadow  of  his  court,  said  to  Cromwell  and  his  officers,  " You  are 
driven  back  to  me  by  necessity,  you  cannot  do  without  me  : you  wiil 
never  succeed  in  satisfying  the  nation  for  the  loss  of  the  sovereign 
authority.”  The  king  now  looked  for  better  things  from  the  army 
than  from  the  parliament.  A royal  residence  was  appointed  for  him, 
the  palace  of  Hampton  Court ; and  he  there  became,  although  a 
prisoner,  the  centre  and  arbitrator  of  the  negotiations  between  the 
principal  factions,  who  each  wished  to  strengthen  themselves  with 
liis  name  by  associating  him  to  their  cause. 

The  three  leading  parties  were  the  army,  the  parliament,  and  the 
Scotch.  Cromwell  and  his  son-in-law,  Ireton,  were  confident  in 
their  personal  influence  over  the  king  ; an  accident  undeceived  ihem. 
The  king,  having  written  a private  letter  to  his  wife,  charged  one  of 
his  confidential  servants  to  conceal  this  letter  in  his  horse’s  saddle, 


OLIVER  CROMWELL, 


39 


and  convey  it  to  Dover,  where  the  fishing-boats  served  to  transmit 
his  correspondence  to  the  Continent.  Cromwell  and  Ireton,  who 
had  some  suspicion  of  the  nature  of  this  missive,  resolved  to  ascertain 
by  personal  examination  the  private  sentiments  of  the  king.  In- 
formed of  the  departure  of  the  messenger,  and  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  concealed  the  letter,  they  mounted  their  horses  ami 
rode  that  night  to  Windsor,  which  place  they  reached  some  hours  be- 
fore the  emissar^’^  of  the  king. 

“ We  alighted  at  the  inn,  and  drank  beer  for  a portion  of  the 
night,”  said  Cromwell  subsequently,  “until  our  sp3'  came  to  an- 
nounce that  the  king’s  messenger  had  arrived.  We  rose,  advanced 
wit’n  drawn  swords  toward  the  man,  and  told  him  we  had  an  order  to 
search  all  who  entered  or  quitted  the  inn.  We  left  him  in  the  street, 
and  carried  his  saddle  into  the  room  where  we  had  been  drinking, 
and  having  opened  it  we  took  from  thence  the  letter,  and  then  re- 
turned the  saddle  to  the  messenger  without  his  suspecting  that  it  had 
been  despoiled.  He  departed,  imagining  that  he  had  preserved  the 
secret.  After  he  was  gone  we  read  the  king’s  letter  to  his  wife. 
He  told  her  that  each  faction  was  anxious  that  he  should  join  them, 
but  he  thought  he  ought  to  conclude  with  the  Scotch  in  preference 
to  any  other.  We  returned  to  the  camp,  and  seeing  that  our  cause 
had  nothing  to  expect  from  the  king,  from  that  moment  we  resolved 
on  his  destruction.” 

The  guard  was  doubled,  but  the  king  eluded  their  vigilance.  Fol- 
lowed only  by  Berkley  and  Ashburnham,  his  two  confidential 
friends,  he  crossed  Windsor  forest  by  night,  and  hastened  toward 
the  sea-shore,  where  the  vessel  appointed  to  await  him  was  not  to  be 
seen.  He  then  sought  a safe  and  ndependent  asylum  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  the  strong  castle  of  which,  commanded  by  an  officer  he  be- 
lieved devoted  to  his  service,  promised  him  security.  He  expected 
from  thence  to  treat  freely  with  his  people,  but  he  found  too  late  that 
he  was  a prisoner  in  the  castle,  where  he  had  supposed  himself 
master. 

Charles  passed  the  winter  in  negotiations  with  the  commissioners 
appointed  by  the  parliament.  During  these  vain  discussions,  Crom- 
well, Ireton,  and  the  most  fanatical  of  the  officers,  uneasy  at  delay, 
assembled  at  Windsor  in  secret  council,  and  after  having  in  their  en 
thusiasm  implored  with  prayers  and  tears  that  they  might  be  en 
dowed  with  spiritual  light,  they  took  the  resolution  of  proclaiming 
the  republic,  of  bringing  the  king  to  trial,  and  of  sacrificing  him  to 
:he  welfare  of  the  nation.  “ There  will  be  no  peace,”  cried  they, 
‘‘  for  the  people,  no  security  for  the  saints,  so  long  as  this  prince, 
even  within  the  walls  of  a prison,  is  made  the  instrument  of  factious 
treaties,  the  secret  hope  of  the  ambitious,  and  an  object  of  pity  to 
the  nation.  ’ ’ 

Implacable  religion  inspired  the  fanatics,  fear  impelled  the  base, 
lUnbitiou  excited  the  daring,  and  the  individual  passion  of  each  ap- 


10 


OLIVER  CRO-MV'ELL. 


peared  m the  eyes  of  all  as  the  announced  decree  of  heaven.  The 
consummation  was  decided  on  without  a dissentient  voice.  From 
this  day  fortli,  the  crime,  already  accomplished  in  the  anticipation  of 
Cromwell,  visibly  appears  to  disorder  his  mind,  to  deprive  his  religion 
of  its  innocence,  his  words  of  their  sinceritj',  his  actions  of  their 
piety,  and  to  associate  fatally  in  all  his  conduct  the  craftiness  of 
ambition  and  the  cruelty  of  the  executioner  with  Ihe  superstitious 
bigotrj'  of  the  sectarian.  His  soul  is  no  longer  clear  ; it  becomes  ob- 
scure and  enigmatical  for  the  world  as  well  as  for  himself  ; he  wavers 
between  the  fanatic  and  the  assassin  ; just  punishment  of  a criminal 
resolution,  which  assumes  that  the  interest  of  a cause  conveys  the 
right  of  life  and  death  over  the  victim,  and  emploj's  murder  as  the 
means  of  producing  the  triumph  of  virtue. 

At  the  same  moment  when  the  conspirators  of  Windsor  decreed  the 
arrest  of  Charles,  he  himself  pronounced  his  own  sentence,  in  break- 
ing off  the  rigorous  negotiations  with  the  parliament,  and  in  refusing 
to  affix  his  signature  to  the  degradation  of  the  ro3'al  authority.  From 
that  time  forward  his  captivity  was  no  longer'disguised  under  the 
outward  semblance  of  honor  and  respect.  Shut  up  in  the  keep  of  a 
strong  castle,  and  deprived  of  all  communication  with  his  friends,  he 
had  no  society  during  a long  winter  but  that  of  an  old  domestic 
who  lit  his  fire  and  brought  in  his  food.  Throughout  this  protracted 
and  painful  solitude,  with  a menacing  fate  present  to  his  imagination, 
and  the  waves  of  the  ocean  bursting  on  his  ears,  he  fortified  his  mind, 
naturally  courageous  though  tender,  by  the  aid  of  religion,  and 
prepared  for  the  death  with  Avhich  all  parties  combined  to^  threaten 
him.  His  life  constituted  a pledge  which  each  faction  was  afraid  to 
leave  in  the  hands  of  their  opponents.  None  of  them  hated  the  man, 
but  all  were  equally  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  monarch.  His  death, 
like  that  of  the  proscribed  victims  of  Antony,  Octavius,  and  Lepidus, 
at  Rome,  became  a mutual  sacrifice,  reciprocally  demanded  by  op- 
posing ambition  or  baseness. 

Another  faction  still  more  radical,  that  of  the  Levellers,  the  relig- 
ious communists  of  the  day,  had  already  begun  to  spread  among  the 
troops  of  Cromwell.  Armed,  after  his  example,  with  texts  from  the 
Old  and  New  Testament,  interpreted  by  them  as  ordaining  a perfect 
equality  of  all  classes,  and  an  impartial  div  ision  of  the  .sifts  bestovred 
by  heaven  on  man,  this  sect,  which  Cromwell  had,  without  his  cwb 
knowledge,  excited,  he  energeticallj'  and  promptl}'  suppressed  in  the 
blood  of  several  of  his  own  soldiers.  In  proportion  as  he  approached 
supreme  authority,  and  exercised  uncontrolled  command,  the  relig 
ionist  gave  way  to  the  politician.  In  his  soul  the  spirit  of  sectarian- 
ism disappeared  under  the  desire  of  rule.  He  relegated  to  heaven 
all  sublimated  theories,  saintly  in  their  essence,  but  utterly  inapplica- 
ble to  human  institutions.  His  clear  natural  sense  impressed  on  him 
the  necessity  of  power  and  the  sacredness  of  personal  property,  the 
two  leading  instincts  of  pubhc  and.  domestic  government.  He  re 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


41 


paired  to  London,  purified  the  parliament,  through  the  agency  of  Colo- 
nel Pride,  of  those  members  who  were  opposed  to  him,  and  pro 
claimed  the  republic,  under  the  title  of  an  assembly  or  convention  of 
the  people. 

The  army  and  the  parliament,  instigated  by  the  puritans  and  re- 
publicans, determined  on  the  king’s  trial.  Cromwell  appeared 
to  hesitate  before  the  enormity  of  the  outrage.  From  his  place  in 
the  Plouse  he  spoke  more  in  the  tone  of  an  inspired  enthusiast  than 
a rational  politician,  and  appeared  to  surrender  his  consent  under  the 
influence  of  a supernatural  impression.  If  any  one, ' ’ said  he,  with 
an  extravagant  emotion  which  approached  imsanity,  “ had  volunta- 
rily proposed  to  me  to  judge  and  punish  the  king,  I should  have 
looked  irpon  him  as  a prodigy  of  treason  ; but  since  Providence  and 
necessity  have  imposed  this  burden  on  us,  I pray  heaven  to  bless 
your  deliberations,  although  I am  not  prepared  to  advise  you  in  this 
weighty  matter.  Shall  I confess  to  you,”  added  he,  in  a tone  and  at- 
titude of  inward  humiliation,  “ that  when  a short  time  since  I offered 
up  a prayer  tor  the  preservation  of  his  Majesty,  I felt  my  tongue 
cleave  to  my  palate  ? I took  this  extraordinary  sensation  as  an  unfa- 
vorable answer  from  heaven,  rejecting  my  humble  entreaty.”  This 
expression  recalled  the  “Aleajacta  est”  of  Caesar,  when  he  pushed 
his  horse  into  the  Rubicon.  But  the  Rubicon  of  Cromwell  was  the 
blood  of  an  innocent  man  and  a sovereign  shed  by  the  crime  and  in- 
gratitude of  his  people. 

The  parliament,  carried  away  by  the  animosity  and  vehemence  of 
the  common  excitement,  decreed  the  trial.  Colonel  Harrison,  the 
son  of  a butcher,  brutal  in  manners  and  sanguinary  in  disposition, 
was  sent  to  conduct  the  king  from  the  Isle  of  Wi.ght,  as  a victim  for 
the  shambles.  Charles,  passing  through  Windsor,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  royal  castle  of  his  ancestors,  heard  a voice,  choked  with  tears, 
which  addressed  him  through  the  bars  of  a dungeon  ; “ My  master  ! 
my  beloved  master  ! is  it  really  you  that  I behold  again,  and  in  this 
condition?”  The  words  proceeded  from  one  of  his  old  servants, 
Hamilton,  a prisoner,  and,  like  himself,  designed  for  the  scaffold. 
The  king  recognized  him,  and  replied,  “ Yes,  it  is  I,  and  this  is  what 
I have  always  wished  to  suffer  for  my  friends.”  The  savage  Harri- 
son would  not  permit  any  further  conversation,  but  forced  the  king 
to  accelerate  his  pace.  Hamilton  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  his 
gestures,  and  his  speech. 

A high  court  of  justice,  nominally  composed  of  333  members,  but 
of  which  seventy  alone  assumed  their  places,  awaited  the  arrival  of 
the  monarch  in  London.  He  was  lodged  in  his  own  palace  of 
Whitehall,  now  for  the  occasion  converted  into  a prison. 

It  was  difficult  to  recognize  the  noble  countenance  of  the  captive, 
still  stamped  with  its  usual  characteristics  of  grace,  majesty,  and  se 
renity.  During  his  solitary  confinement  in  the  castle  of  Carisbrook 
he  had  allowed  his  beard  to  grow,  and  the  gloomy  shade  of  his  dun- 
A.B.— 15 


42 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


geou  appeared  to  give  an  unnatural  pallor  to  his  complexion.  He 
was  habited  in  mourning,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  death.  He  had 
abandoned  all  hopes  on  earth  ; his  looks  and  thoughts  were  now  cen- 
tred solely  on  eternity.  No  victim  was  ever  more  thoroughlj'  pre- 
pared to  submit  to  human  injustice.  The  judges  assembled  in  the 
vast  Gothic  hall  of  Westminster,  the  palace  of  the  Commons.  At 
the  first  calling  over  of  the  list  of  members  destined  to  compo.se  the 
tribunal,  when  the  name  of  Fairfax  was  pronounced  without  re- 
sponse, a voice  from  the  crowd  of  spectators  cried  put,  “ He  has  too 
much  sense  to  be  here.”  When  the  act  of  accusation  against  the  king 
was  read,  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  England,  the  same  voice  again 
replied,  ‘‘Not  one  tenth  of  them!”  The  officer  commanding  the 
guard  ordered  the  soldiers  to  fire  upon  the  gallery  from  whence  these 
rebellious  words  proceeded,  when  it  was  discovered  that  they  had 
been  uttered  by  Lady  Fairfax,  the  wife  of  the  lord-general.  This 
lady,  originally  induced  to  adopt  the  cause  of  the  parliament,  from 
party  spirit  and  attachment  to  the  opinions  of  her  husband,  now 
trembled  with  him  at  the  consequences  of  their  own  act,  and  re- 
deemed, by  a courageous  expression  of  indignation  and  pity,  the  mis. 
chief  they  had  promoted  by  leading  the  sufferer  to  the  feet  of  his 
judges. 

The  king  listened  to  this  avowal  of  repentance,  and  forgave  Fair- 
fax in  his  heart  for  the  victories  which  he  had  tempered  with  mercy, 
and  the  success  he  had  used  with  moderation.  The  act  of  accusa- 
tion was  read  to  him,  drawm  up  after  the  customary  formula,  in 
which  the  words  traitor,  murderer,  and  public  enemy,  were,  as 
usual,  freely  applied  b}'  the  conquering  to  thew’anquished  party.  He 
listened  to  them  unmoved,  with  the  calm  superioritj’  of  innocence. 
Determined  not  to  degrade  the  inviolable  majestj-  of  kings,  of  which 
he  conceived  himself  the  depositary  and  responsible  representative, 
he  replied  that  he  would  never  stoop  to  justify  himself  before  a self- 
elected  tribunal  of  his  own  subjects,  a tribunal  which  the  religion  as 
W'ell  as  the  laws  of  England  equally  forbade  him  to  acknowledge. 

' I shall  leave  to  God,”  said  he,  in  conclusion,  ‘‘  the  care  of  my  de- 
fence, lest  by  answering  I should  acknowledge  in  you  an  authority 
which  has  no  better  foundation  than  that  of  robbers  and  pirates, 
and  thus  draw  on  my  memory  the  reproach  of  posterity,  that  I had 
myself  betraj'ed  the  constitution  of  the  country,  instead  of  selecting 
the  most  estimable  and  enviable  fate  of  a mart3'r.” 

The  president,  Bradshaw,  repelled  this  noble  recusancj’  of  the  king 
as  an  act  of  blasphemy  ; his  words,  in  which  personal  hatred  super- 
seded dignity  and  justice,  mingled  the  bitterness  of  a revolted  subject 
with  the  calmness  of  an  impartial  judge.  The  soldiers,  with  whom 
Cromwell  had  surrounded  the  hall,  imitated  the  example  of  Brad- 
shaw, and  heaped  insults  upon  their  former  sovereign,  now  their 
prisoner.  As  he  passed  through  their  ranks  on  his  return  to  White- 
hall, he  was  assailed  wdth  cries  of  ‘‘  Death  !”  on  every  side,  and 


Oliver  cromwell.  iS 

wome  even  spat  in  his  face.  Charles,  without  irritation,  or  feeling 
himself  degraded  by  these  intemperate  ebullitions,  raised  his  eyes  to 
heaven  in  pious  resignation,  and  bethought  him  of  the  patience  of 
the  sacred  founder  of  the  faith  he  professed,  under  similar  outrages. 
“ Poor  wretches  !”  exclaimed  he  to  those  who  accompanied  him, 
“ they  would  do  the  same  to-morrow  to  their  own  officers,  for  the 
trifling  remuneration  of  sixpence.”  The  unsteady  temper  of  the 
army,  alternately  the  tool  of  all  parties,  had  struck  his  mind  forcibly 
since  the  revolution,  and  inspired  him  with  pity  rather  than  with 
auger. 

A single  veteran  protested  against  the  base  venality  of  his  com 
rades.  As  he  saw  the  discrowned  monarch  pass  before  him,  he  fell 
on  his  knees,  and  with  a loud  voice  called  for  the  blessing  of  heaven 
on  that  royal  and  unhonored  head.  The  ofilcers  indignantly  struck 
him  with  their  swords,  and  punished  his  prayer  and  compassion  as  a 
double  crime.  Charles  turned  his  head  aside,  and  uttered  mildly, 
“ Truly,  the  punishment  was  too  heavy  for  the  offence.”  The  pop- 
ulace overawed  by  the  soldiers,  remained  immovable  spectators  of 
the  trial,  and  confined  themselves  to  expressing  by  a mournful 
silence  their  repugnance  at  being  compelled  to  submit  to  this 
national  tragedy. 

It  was  expected  by  many  that  the  army,  having  obtained  the  sen- 
tence of  their  sovereign,  would  spare  England  the  disgrace  of  the 
punishment.  The  king  himself  had  no  longer  hope  in  man.  The 
republicans  were  determined  not  to  acknowledge  the  rights  of  his 
children  to  the  crown,  which  might  be  construed  into  a superstitious 
weakness  in  favor  of  monarchy.  Cromwell,  however,  did  not  con- 
ceal from  himself  the  certainty  of  a restoration,  after  a temporary 
eclipse.  He  knew  the  dispositions  of  men  too  well  to  suppose  that 
he  could  found  a dynasty  of  his  own  blood.  He  had  ever  too  much 
religious  disinterestedness  to  desire  that  selfish  glory.  The  transi- 
tory nature  of  earthly  grandeur  disappeared  in  his  eyes,  when  com- 
pared with  futurity.  His  eternal  safety  was,  at  the  bottom,  the 
leading  point  of  his  ambition  ; but  he  was  desirous  that  the  republic, 
cemented  by  the  blood  of  the  king,  and  thus  protected  from  monar- 
chical enterprises,  should  last  at  least  until  religious  liberty  was  too 
eolidly  founded  in  the  three  kingdoms  for  either  the  Romish  or  An- 
glican church  ever  again  to  interfere  with  the  unshackled  freedom  of 
conscience.  Everything  in  the  confidential  letters  and  private  con- 
versations of  Cromwbll  with  his  family  at  this  epoch  proves  that  he 
had  no  other  object  ir>  surrendering  Charles  the  First  to  the  scaffold. 
A.n  utter  disregard  of  selfish  motives  at  this  momentous  crisis  of  his 
fife  hid  from  him  the  ferocity  and  iniquity  of  the  act,  and  enabled 
him,  when  once  his  inspiration  was  examined  and  obeyed,  to  assume 
that  calmness  of  demeanor  and  imperturbable  serenity  of  counte- 
nance which  historians  have  described  as  cruelty,  but  which,  in  fact, 
was  only  fanaticism. 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


<f4 

This  singular  tranquillity,  •which  M.  Villenrain  has  eloquently  tics 
ignated  the  gayety  of  crime,  signified  itself  b}'  the  most  repulsive 
words  and  questions  during  the  last  da}'s  of  the  trial.  The  military 
sectarian  appears  to  liave  entirely  replaced  the  man  of  human  sympa- 
thies in  Cromwell  . a tender  husband  to  his  wife,  a father  affection 
ale  even  to  weakness  to  his  own  children,  he  spared  neither  the  bus 
band  nor  the  fathei  nor  the  children  in  the  victim  he  offered  up  tc 
heaven,  as  if  he  had  been  a leader  under  the  old  law,  commanded 
by  an  implacable  prophet  of  the  Bible  to  sacrifice  a king,  the  enemj 
of  his  people.  From  the  records  of  those  scriptural  times  he  had  im 
presserl  his  heart  with  their  ferocity.  He  grasped  the  knife  of  the 
executioner  with  a hand  as  obedient  as  that  which  had  hitherto 
wielded  the  sword.  The  punishment  of  Charles  the  First  was  less 
an  English  than  a Jewish  murder.  Cromwell  with  difficult}'  granted 
lire  respite  of  three  days  which  Charles  demanded  after  his  sentence 
was  pronounced,  to  prepare  for  death,  and  to  adnrinister  his  last  con- 
solation to  his  absent  wife,  and  children  who  were  with  him.  He 
deluded,  by  miserable  and  ironical  subterfuges,  the  pity  and  indeci- 
sion of  the  other  generals  less  hardened  than  himself,  and  who  ear- 
nestly represented  to  him  the  enormity,  the  uselessness,  and  the  bar- 
barism of  the  execution.  He  equally  evaded  the  remonstrances  of 
the  foreign  ambassadors,  who  offered  to  purchase  the  life  of  Charles 
by  large  subsidies  to  England  and  an  enormous  tribute  to  him.self. 
He  pitilessly  set  aside  the  intercession  of  his  near  relative.  Colonel 
Sir  .John  Cromwell.  He  answered  all  by  the  oracle  and  inspiration 
repeatedly  consulted  in  his  prayers,  and  to  which  he  declared,  in 
spite  of  tears  and  entreaties,  that  there  was  but  one  ans  wer — Dmih  ! 
Another  of  his  relations.  Colonel  Ingoldsby,  entered  the  hall  acciden- 
tally while  the  officers  were  signing  the  sentence  of  the  parliament, 
and  refused  to  set  his  name  to  an  act  that  his  conscience  disapproved. 
Cromwell  rose  from  his  seat,  and  clasping  Ingoldsby  in  his  arms,  as 
if  the  death-warrant  of  the  king  was  a camp  frolic,  carried  him  to 
the  table,  and  guiding  the  pen  in  his  hand,  forced  him  to  .«ign,  with 
a laugh  and  a joke.'  When  all  had  affixed  their  names,  Cromwell, 
as  if  unable  to  contain  his  joy.  snatched  the  pen  from  the  fingers  of 
the  last,  dipped  it  anew  in  tlie  ink,  and  smeared  the  face  of  his  next 
neighbor,  either  thinking  or  not  thinking  that  in  that  ink  he  behelr 
the  blood  of  his  king. 

Never  before  had  there  been  exhibited  such  a striking  contra.st  be 
tween  the  murderer  and  his  victim — the  fanatic  and  the  man  of  gen- 
uine piety.  While  Cromwell  sported  thus,  with  the  sword  in  his 
hand,  the  three  days  of  respite  accorded  to  the  king  by  the  decorum  of 
political  justic  unveiled  to  the  world  all  that  the  heart  of  a monarch, 
a man,  a husband,  a father,  and  a Christian  could  contain,  of 
heroism,  manly  tenderness,  resignation,  immortal  hope,  and  holy 
reliance. 

These  last  hours  were  entirely  employed,  minute  by  minute,  by 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


45 


Charles,  in  living  to  the  last  with  the  superhuman  self-possession  of 
a sage  whose  whole  existence  had  been  an  apprenticeship  to  death, 
or  of  a man  who  saw  before  him  the  certainty  of  a protracted  life. 
His  resigned  conversations,  his  pious  exercises,  his  severe  scrutiny, 
without  indulgence  or  weakness,  of  his  own  conscience,  his  e.xamiua- 
tion  of  his  past  conduct,  his  remorse  for  having  sacrificed  Strafford, 
to  smooth  a difficulty  in  his  reign  which  became  more  insurmount- 
able toward  the  end  ; his  royal  and  patriotic  anxieties  respecting  the 
fate  of  the  kingdom,  which  he  left  to  all  the  hazards  of  a gloomy 
future:  finally,  the  revived  feelings  of  love  for  a young,  beautiful, 
and  adored  wife,  and  the  agonizing  thoughts  of  a father  for  the  chil- 
dren of  tender  age  still  in  England  in  the  hands  of  his  inveterate  en- 
emies— all  these  coufiicling  emotions  filled  those  funereal  days  and 
nights  with  worldly  cares,  with  tears  of  anguish,  with  recommenda- 
tions of  his  soul  to  heaven,  and,  above  all,  with  an  earnest  of  eternal 
peace  ; that  peace  from  above,  which  descends  through  the  vaulted 
roof  of  the  dungeon  and  nestles  in  the  heart  of  the  just  and  innocent. 
Of  all  modern  historical  sufferings,  including  those  of  Louis  the 
Sixteenth  in  the  Temple,  the  end  of  Charles  the  Fhst  bears  the  most 
striking  resemblance  to  the  end  of  an  ancient  phUosopher.  Royalty 
and  religion  add  to  both  something  even  more  august  and  divine  than 
We  can  discover  in  any  of  the  earlier  examples.  The  throne  and  the 
scaffold  appear  to  be  divided  by  a more  iimneasurable  al>3^ss  than  tlie 
narrow  interval  which  separates  ordinary  life  and  death.  The  great- 
er the  portion  of  earthly  grandeur  and  happiness  we  are  called  upon 
to  abandon,  so  much  more  sublime  is  the  philosophy  which  can  re- 
nounce it  with  a tranquil  smile.  But  although  the  virtue  of  the  two 
monarchs  is  equal,  that  of  Charles  is  the  most  brilliant ; for  Charles 
the  First  was  a hero,  while  Louis  the  Sixteenth  was  only  a saint.  In 
Charles  there  was  the  courage  of  a great  man,  while  in  Louis  there 
was  only  the  resignation  of  an  exemplary  martyr. 

Nature  nevertheless  (and  herein  consists  the  pathetic  sublimity  ol 
his  last  hours,  for  nothing  is  truly  beautiful  which  departs  from  na- 
ture) combated  w'ithout  subduing  his  firmness,  when  it  became  ncc- 
essarj"  to  take  leave  of  his  beloved  children.  These  were  the  Priu- 
cess  Elizabeth  and  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  scarcely  old  enough  to 
weep  for  the  parent  they  were  about  to  lose.  Their  mother  had  res- 
cued the  others,  including  the  Prince  of  Wales,  from  tbe  power  of 
parliament.  She  kept  them  in  France,  to  preserve  the  succession 
and  revenge  their  father.  Her  daughter,  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  W'as 
endowed  with  reason  and  maturity  of  feeling  bej'ond  her  age.  The 
vicissitudes,  the  flights,  the  imprisonments,  the  domestic  woes  of  the 
family,  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  from  her  cradle,  had 
strengthened  her  intellect  by  misfortune,  and  given  her  a precocity 
superior  to  her  years.  Her  father  delighted  to  recognize  in  her  the 
grace  and  sensibility  of  her  absent  mother,  whom  she  replaced  in  the 
last  confidence  of  the  dying  husband.  He  consoled  himself  with  the 


46 


OLIVEK  CKOMWELI-. 


idea  that  she  would  retain  the  vivid  impression  of  his  farewell 
thoughts,  and  transmit  them  still  glowing  with  tenderness  to  his  be- 
loved partner.  Tell  her,  ■’ said  he  to  his  young  daughter,  “that 
throughout  the  whole  course  of  our  union  I have  never,  even  in  im- 
agination, violated  the  fidelity  I pledged  to  lier,  more  from  choice 
than  duty,  and  that  my  love  will  only  expire  with  the  minutes  which 
terminate  my  existence.  I shall  end  by  loving  her  here  below,  to 
recommence  my  affection  again  through  all  eternity.” 

Then  taking  the  little  Duke  of  Gloucester,  who  was  only  five  years 
old,  upon  his  knees,  and  desiring  to  impress  upon  the  mind  of  the 
infant,  by  a tragical  image,  the  counsel  which  through  him  he  ad- 
dressed to  all  the  family7  “ My  child,”  said  he,  “ they  are  going  to 
cutoff  thy  father's  head!”  'The  boy  gazed  with  anxious  and  as- 
tonished looks  upon  the  countenance  of  the  speaker.  ‘‘  Yes,”  con- 
tinued the  king,  seeking  to  fix  the  terrible  remembrance  by  repetition. 
“ they  will  cut  of  my  head,  and  perhaps  make  thee  king  ! But  pay 
attention  to  my  words  ; thou  must  not  be  made  a king  by  them  while 
thy  elder  brothers,  Charles  and  James,  are  living.  Thej'  will  cut  off 
their  heads  also,  if  they  can  lay  hands  on  them,  and  will  end  by  cut- 
ting off  thine.  I therefore  command  thee  never  to  be  made  a king 
by  them.” 

The  child,  'who  was  impressed  with  the  mournful  scene  and  solemn 
warning,  appeared  suddenly  struck  by  a light  and  a sense  of  obedi 
cnce  beyond  his  age.  “ No,”  he  replied,  “ I will  not  consent — they 
shall  never  make  me  a king.  I will  be  torn  to  pieces  first !” 
Charles,  in  this  infantine  heroism,  recognized  a voice  from  lieaven, 
which  assured  him  that  liis  posterity  would  be  true  to  themselves  in 
seeking  to  restore  the  throne  after  his  decease.  He  shed  tears  of  ]oy 
as  he  surrendered  back  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  to  the  arms  of  the 
jailers. 

From  his  chamber  in  the  palace  of  Whitehall  he  could  distinctly 
hear  the  noise  of  the  workmen,  who  were  hastily  employed  night 
and  day  in  erecting  the  timber  work  of  the  scaffold  on  which  he  (was 
t ) suffer  These  preparations,  which  multiplied  while  they  auiici 
paled  the  keen  sensations  of  his  approaching  death,  neither  disturbed 
his  sleep  nor  interrupted  his  conversations.*  On  the  morning  of  his 
execution  he  rose  before  the  dawn.  He  called  Herbert,  the  only  at- 
tendant allowed  to  wait  upon  him,  and  instructed  him  to  bestow  more 
tnan  ordinary  care  on  his  apparel,  befitting  such  a great  and  happg 
solemnity , as  he  designated  it — the  close  of  his  earthly  troubles  and  the 
commencement  of  his  eternal  happiness.  He  passed  some  time  in  pri- 
vate prayer  with  the  Bishop  of  London,  the  venerable  and  eloquent 
Juxon,  a man  worthy  by  his  virtue  to  comprehend,  console,  and  em 

* M.  de  Lamartine  appears  to  have  followed  name  in  this  account  ; but  it  is  cer 
tain  that  King  Charles  slept  at  St.  James' Palace  on  the  night  that  preceded  his 
execution,  and  walked  through  the  Park,  attended  hy  the  guards,  to  the  Bancjuet' 
ing  House  at  Whitehall,  where  the  scafiold  was  erected. 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


-±7 


ulate  his  death.  Already  they  communicated  with  heaven.  The 
officers  of  Cromwell  interrupted  them  to  announce  that  the  hour  of 
execution  had  struck,  and  that  the  scaffold  waited  for  the  victim. 
It  was  fixed  against  the  palace,  facing  the  great  square  of  Whitehall, 
and  was  reached  by  passing  through  a gallery  on  the  same  floor. 
Charles  walked  with  a slow  and  steady  step,  which  sought  not  to 
hasten  the  last  moment,  as  if,  by  an  involuntary  emotion  of  human 
weakness,  the  victim  desired  to  anticipate  the  hour  appointed  by  hea- 
ven. A dense  mass  of  Cromwell’s  troops  surrounded  the  place  of 
execution.  The  inhabitants  of  London,  and  strangers  from  the 
neighboring  districts,  crowded  the  open  space  in  front,  the  roofs  of 
the  houses,  the  trees,  and  the  balconies  on  every  side,  from  which  it 
was  possible  to  obtain  a glimpse  of  the  proceedings.  Some  came  to 
see,  others  to  rejoice,  but  by  far  the  greater  portion  to  shudder  and 
weep.  Cromwell,  knowing  well  the  general  imiiression  of  horror 
which  the  death  of  the  king  would  convey  to  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  which  they  looked  upon  as  a species  of  dei-cide,  was  deter- 
mined to  prevent  the  favorable  effect  his  last  words  might  produce, 
and  removed  the  crowd  of  citizens  beyond  the  reac.h  of  a human 
voioj.  Colonel  Tomlinson,  selected  especially  to  guard  the  prisoner 
and  conduct  him  to  the  block,  was  overcome  by  the  consistent  spec- 
tacle of  intrepidity,  resignation,  and  majesty  whicli  the  royal  victim 
exhibited.  The  jailer  had  been  converted  into  the  friend  and  con- 
soler of  his  captive.  The  other  officers  had  also  experienced  the 
softening  of  hatred  and  involuntary  respect  for  innocence  which 
Providence  often  reserves  for  the  condemned  as  the  last  adieu  of 
earth,  and  a tardy  acknowledgment  of  human  justice.  Surrounded 
by  this  cortege  of  relenting  enemies  or  weeping  friends,  Charles, 
standing  erect,  and  more  a king  than  ever,  on  the  steps  of  his  eternal 
throne,  assumed  the  privilege  awarded  in  England  to  every  sentenced 
criminal,  of  speaking  the  last  words  in  his  own  cause. 

After  having  clearly  demonstrated  that  he  only  performed  his  duty 
in  appealing  to  arms  when  the  parliament  had  first  resorted  to  that 
alternative,  and  that  he  was  called  upon  to  defend  in  the  royal  prerog- 
ative a fundamental  principle  of  the  constitution,  for  whicli  he  was 
responsible  to  his  successors,  to  his  people,  and  to  God  himself,  he 
acknowledged,  with  true  Christian  humility,  that  although  innocent 
before  the  law  of  the  crimes  for  which  he  was  about  to  suffer,  his 
conscience  told  him  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  many  faults  and 
weaknesses,  for  which  he  accepted  without  a murmur  his  present 
death  as  a meet  and  salutary  expiation.  “I  basely  ratified,”  said 
he,  in  allusion  to  the  fate  of  Strafford,  “ an  unjust  sentence,  and  the 
similar  injustice  I am  now  to  undergo  is  a seasonable  retribution  for 
the  punishment  I inflicted  on  an  innocent  man.  I hold  none 
among  you  responsible  for  the  death  to  which  I am  condemned  by 
divine  decree,  and  which  works  its  ends  by  human  instruments.  I 
lay  not  my  blood  on  you  or  on  my  people,  and  demand  so  othei 


48 


OLIVER  CKOJnVELL. 


compensation  for  my  punisliment  than  the  return  of  peace,  and  a re- 
vival of  the  fidelity  which  the  kingdom  owes  to  my  children.” 

At  these  words  every  eye  was  suffused  with  tears.  He  concluded 
by  bidding  adieu  to  those  who  had  been  his  subjects,,  and  by  a last 
solemn  invocation  to  the  only  Judge  to  whom  he  was  now  respon- 
sible. Sighs  alone  were  heard  during  the  intervals  which  marked 
these  last  outpourings  of  his  heart.  He  spoke,  and  was  silent. 
Bishop  Juxon,  who  attended  him  to  the  last  moment,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  block,  said  to  him,  '•  Sire,  there  is  but  one  step  more, 
a sharp  and  short  one  ! Kemember  that  in  another  second  you  will 
ascend  from  earth  to  heaven,  and  that  there  you  will  find  in  an  infi- 
nite and  inexhaustible  joy  the  reward  jf  your  sacrifice,  and  a crown 
that  shall  never  pass  away.” 

” My  friend,”  replied  Charles,  interrupting  him  with  perfect  com- 
posure, ” I go  from  a corruprible  crovrn  to  an  incorruptible  one,  and 
which,  as  you  say,  I feel  convinced  i shall  possess  forever  without 
trouble  or  anxiety.” 

He  was  proceeding  to  speak  further,  when,  perceiving  one  of 
the  assistants  stumble  against  the  weapon  of  the  executioner,  whicii 
lay  by  the  side  of  the  block,  and  who  by  blunting  the  edge  might  in- 
crease the  sensation  of  the  blow,  “ Touch  not  the  axe  !”  he  exclaimed 
in  a loud  voice,  and  with  an  expression  of  anger.  He  then  pra\  ed 
again  for  a few  moments,  in  a lorv  tone,  and  approaching  Bishoii 
Juxon  to  embrace  him  for  the  last  time,  while  pressing  his  hand  with 
fervo'-,  uttered  in  a solemn  tone  the  single  word,  ‘‘  Eeinember  !”  This 
enigmatical  expression,  which  afterward  received  many  mysterious 
and  forced  interpretations,  was  simply  a repetition  of  what  he  had 
already  instructed  Juxon  to  convey  to  his  children  when  they  grew 
up,  and  became  kings — to  forgive  their  enemies.  Juxon  bowed 
without  speaking,  which  indicated  implicit  obedience  to  his  roj'al 
master’s  wishes.  The  king  knelt  down,  and  calmly  inclined  his  head 
upon  the  block.  Two  men  in  masks  laid  hold  of  Charles  respect- 
fully, and  arranged  him  in  a suitable  position.  One  of  them  then 
raised  the  axe,  and  severed  his  head  at  a single  blow.  The  other 
lifted  it  up,  still  streaming  with  blood,  and  exhibiting  it  to  the  people, 
cried  out,  ” Behold  the  head  of  a traitor  !” 

A general  murmur  of  disapprobation  arose  simultaneously  from 
that  vast  crowd  when  they  heard  those  words,  which  seemed  to  sur- 
pass the  outrage  of  the  execution  itself.  The  tears  of  the  nation 
protested  against  the  ferocious  butchery  of  the  arm}^  England  felt 
as  if  she  had  laid  upon  herself  the  crime  and  future  punishment 
of  parricide.  Cromwell  was  all-powerful,  but  detested.  In  him,  the 
murderer  was  thenceforward  associated  with  the  politician  and  the 
hero.  Liberty  could  no  longer  voluntarily  bend  under  the  iron  rule 
of  a man  who  had  thus  abused  his  authority  and  reputation.  He 
ceased  to  govern  except  bj'  the  influence  of  the  ariu\',  whose  com 
plicity  he  had  purchased,  who  obeyed  without  reasoning,  and  who 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


49 


!iad  no  conscience  beyond  their  pay.  He  reached  the  dictatorship 
through  the  avenues  of  crime.  The  parliament  had  already  become 
too  subservient  to  the  army,  and  too  much  estranged  from  the  popular 
feeling  of  England,  to  older  any  opposition  to  the  views  of  Cromwell. 
To  obtain  a protector  they'  were  forced  to  accept  a master ; they 
had  voted  for  the  suppression  of  the  monarchy,  but  not  for  the  es- 
tablishment of  slavery.  The  royal  children  embarrassed  them.  It 
was  debated  whether  or  not  the  Princess  Elizabeth  should  be  appren- 
ticed to  a buttonmaker  in  the  city,  but  this,  the  beloved  daughter  ot 
her  father,  more  susceptible  of  grief  than  her  young  brother,  died  of 
the  shock  occasioned  by  the  king’s  execution.  The  Duke  of  Glou- 
cester was  permitted  to  join  his  mother  in  France. 

A terrible  book,  the  posthumous  work  and  justification  of  Charles 
the  First,  entitled  Eikon  Basilike,  came  forth  like  a subterranean 
voice  from  the  tomb  which  had  scarcely  closed  over  the  king,  and 
excited  the  conscience  of  England  even  to  delirium.  It  was  the  ap- 
peal of  memory  and  virtue  to  posterity.  This  book,  spreading  with 
rapidity  among  the  people  and  throughout  Europe,  commenced  a 
second  trial,  an  eternal  process  between  kings  and  their  judges. 
Cromwell,  intimidated  by  the  universal  murmur  which  this  publica- 
tion excited  against  him,  sought  among  his  partisans  a living  voice 
sufficiently  potent  to  counterbalance  that  of  the  dead. 

He  found  Milton,  the  most  epic  of  poets,  and  the  only  candidate 
for  immortality  among  the  republicans  of  England.  Milton  had  just 
returned  from  Italy  ; there  he  had  imbibed,  with  the  dust  of  many  a 
Brutus  aud  Cassius,  the  miasmas  of  political  assassination,  justified, 
according  to  his  notions,  by  individual  tyuanny.  He  had  contracted, 
in  his  literary  commerce  with  the  great  popular  celebrities  of  history, 
the  noble  passion  of  republican  liberty.  He  saw  in  Charles  the  First 
a tyrant,  in  Cromwell  a liberator.  He  thought  to  serve  the  oppressed 
cause  of  the  people  by  combating  the  dogmas  of  the  inviolability  of 
the  persons  and  lives  of  kings  ; but  in  this  particular  instance  he  was 
base  enough  to  plead  the  cause  of  the  murderer  against  the  victim. 
His  book  on  regicide  paralyzed  the  world.  These  are  questions  to  be 
probed  with  the  sword,  and  never  with  the  pea.  Whenever  the  death 
of  one  by  the  hands  of  many  forms  the  basis  of  a polemical  principle, 
that  death  is  an  act  of  cowardice,  if  not  of  criminality  ; and  a just 
and  generous  mind  abstains  from  defending  it,  either  in  mercy  oi 
from  conviction.  Milton’s  book,  rewarded  by  the  gratitude  of  Crom- 
well, and  by  the  place  of  secretary  to  the  new  council  of  state  under 
the  republican  government,  is  a stain  of  blood  on  the  pure  page  of 
his  reputation.  It  became  effaced  in  his  old  age,  when  blind,- indi- 
gent, and  proscribed,  like  Homer,  he  celebrated,  after  his  example, 
in  a divine  poem,  the  early  innocence  of  man,  the  revolt  of  the  in- 
fernal powers,  the  factions  of  the  heavenly  agents,  and  the  triumph 
of  eternal  justice  over  the  spirit  of  evil. 

Cromwell,  compelled  to  support  tyu-anny  by  imposing  silence,  or- 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


0(J 

dered  his  parliament  to  interdict  the  liberty  of  the  press.  He  trem- 
bled for  a moment  before  the  popular  faction  of  the  Levellers,  -who 
wished  to  erect  on  evangelical  equality  the  anti-social  consequence 
of  a community  of  lands  and  goods.  For  the  second  dme  he  discov- 
ered that  every  dictator  who  abandoned  public  and  domestic  rights 
to  these  wild  dreams,  subversive  of  proprietorship  and  hereditarj' 
rights  (the  only  conditions  on  which  human  institutions  can  subsist), 
would  soon  become  a chief  of  banditti,  and  not  the  head  of  a govern- 
ment. His  strong  sense  showed  him  the  impossibility  of  reasoning 
with  such  extreme  doctrines,  .and  the  necessity  of  utterly  extirpating 
(heir  advocates.  “ There  can  be  no  middle  course  here,”  exclaimed 
lie  to  the  parliament  and  the  leaders  of  the  army  ; “ we  must  reduce 
his  party  to  dust,  or  must  submit  to  be  scattered  into  dust  by  them.” 
The  Levellers  vanished  at  the  word,  as  they  disappeared  some  years 
later  before  the  insurrection  of  London  under  Charles  the  Second 
and  as  the  impossible  will  ever  give  w’a}'  before  the  reallj'  practicable. 

But  all  the  opposing  factions,  whether  in  the  parliament  or  the 
army,  agreed  in  calling  upon  Cromwell  to  reduce  rebellious  and  an- 
archical Ireland.  He  set  out  in  regal  state,  in  a carriage  drawn  by 
six  Ixirses,  escorted  by  a squadron  of  guards  and  attended  by  the 
parliament  and  council  of  state,  who  accompanied  him  as  far  as 
Brentford.  The  Marquis  of  Ormond,  who  commanded  the  forces  of 
the  ro3'alists,  was  defeated  near  Dublin.  Cromwell  converted  his 
victories  into  massacres,  and  pacilied  Ireland  through  a deluge  of 
biood.  Becalled  to  London,  after  nine  months  of  combats  and  exe- 
cutions, by  the  commotions  in  Scotland,  he  left  Ireland  to  the  care 
of  his  son-in-law  and  lieutenant,  Ireton. 

The  roj^alist  cause  sprang  up  anew  under  his  feet  from  its  sub- 
verted foundations.  The  Prince  of  Wales,  the  eldest  son  of  Charles 
the  First,  and  now  king  by  the  execution  of  his  father,  but  aban- 
doned ami  shamefully  banished  from  France  bj-  the  complaisance  of 
Cardinal  Mazarin  for  Cromwell,  had  taken  refuge  in  Holland,  and 
afterward  in  the  little  island  of  Jerse}',  to  watch  the  favorable  mo- 
ment for  re-entering  England  through  the  avenue  of  Scotland.  The 
Scotch  parliament,  composed  of  fanatical  Presbyterians,  as  hostile  to 
the  independent  faith  of  Cromwell  as  to  the  papacy  itself,  treated  for 
the  throne  with  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Thej'  onlj-  required  of  him. 
in  acknowledgment  of  his  restoration  in  Scotland,  the  recognition  of 
their  national  Church.  This  Church  was  a species  of  biblical  m^  sli- 
cism,  savage,  and  calling  itself  inspired,  founded  on  the  ruins  of  the 
Romish  faith  by  a prophet  named  John  Knox,  with  the  sword  in  his 
iiand,  excommunication  on  his  lips,  and  superstition  in  his  heart — the 
true  religion  of  civil  war,  replacing  one  intolerance  bj^  another,  and 
adding  to  the  natural  ferocitj"  of  the  people  the  most  ridiculous  as- 
sumptiou  of  extreme  sanctitja  Scotland  at  that  time  resembled  a 
Hebrew  tribe,  governed  bj''  a leader  assuming  divine  inspiration,  in. 
terpreted  through  his  disciples  aud  priests.  It  was  the  theocracy  of 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


51 


madness,  and  the  practice  was  worthy  of  the  dogma.  An  honest 
superstition  in  some,  a sombre  hypocrisy  in  others,  impressed  on  the 
manners,  the  government,  and  the  army  itself,  an  austerity  and  re- 
morseless piety  which  gave  to  this  insurrection  against  Catholicism 
Ihe  silence,  the  terrors,  and  the  flaming  piles  of  the  Spanish  Inquisi- 
tion. The  Prince  of  Wales,  young,  handsome,  thoughtless,  volup- 
tuous, and  unbelieving — a true  English  Alcibiades — condemned  to 
govern  a nation  of  bigoted  and  cruel  sectarists,  hesitated  to  accept  a 
throne  which  he  could  only  keep  by  feigning  the  hypocrisy  and  fa- 
naticism of  his  parliament,  or  by  rashly  repudiating  the  yoke  of  the 
clergy. 

But  at  the  same  moment  when  the  parliament  offered  him  the 
crown  on  these  debasing  conditions,  another  promised  it  to  him  as 
the  price  of  glorious  and  daring  achievements.  This  was  the  young 
Montrose,  one  of  those  lofty  spirits  cut  short  in  the  flower  of  their 
career,  equally  belonging  by  nature  to  antiquity  and  chivalry,  and  al- 
ternately compared,  by  the  historians  of  the  time,  to  the  demigods 
of  romance  and  the  heroes  of  Plutarch. 

Montrose  was  a Scottish  nobleman  of  high  rank  and  opulent  pos- 
sessions. After  having  combated  at  the  head  of  the  royal  army  for 
Charles  the  First  until  his  chances  were  e.vtinguished,  he  had  fled 
for  refuge  to  the  Continent.  His  name,  his  cause,  his  youth,  his  per- 
sonal beauty,  the  graces  of  his  conversation,  and  the  report  of  his 
character,  had  obtained  for  him  at  the  different  courts  of  Germany  a 
reception  which  encouraged  his  hopes  of  restoring  the  legitimate 
monarchy  in  his  own  country.  He  detested  and  despised  the  ultra- 
puritans as  the  leprosy  of  the  land.  He  was  adored  by  the  Highland 
clans,  a rural  and  warlike  class,  somewhat  resembling  the  Vendeans 
of  France,  who  acknowledged  only  their  sword  and  their  king. 
Montrose,  having  levied  at  his  own  expense  flve  hundred  German 
auxiliaries,  to  serve  as  a nucleus  for  the  army  that  he  expected  the 
sound  of  his  steps  would  raise  for  Charles  the  Second  in  the  moun- 
tains, landed  in  Scotland,  and  fought  like  an  adventurer  and  a hero, 
at  the  head  of  the  first  groups  of  his  partisans  he  could  collect  to- 
gether. But  being  surrounded  by  the  army  of  the  Scottish  parlia- 
ment, before  he  could  assemble  the  insurgent  clans  he  was  conquered, 
wounded,  imprisoned  in  irons,  and  carried  in  triumph  to  Edinburgh, 
to  serve  as  a mockery  and  a victim  to  the  clergy  and  the  govern- 
ment. His  forehead  bare  and  cicatrized  by  v/ounds,  his  garments 
stained  with  his  own  blood,  an  iron  collar  encircling  his  neck,  chains 
fastened  round  his  arms  and  attached  on  each  side  to  the  stock  of  the 
wheel  of  a cart  in  which  ho  was  placed,  the  executioner  on  horseback 
in  front  of  the  vehicle — in  this  manner  he  entered  the  capital  of 
Scotland,  while  the  members  of  the  parliament  and  the  ministers  of 
the  Church  alternately  howled  forth  psalms  and  overwhelmed  him 
with  execrations.  The  people  wept  at  the  sad  spectacle,  but  con- 
cealed their  tears,  lest  pity  should  be  construed  into  blasphemy  by 


52 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


tlie  Presbyterians  of  Knox.  The  clergy,  on  the  following  SunJay. 
preached  against  this  compassionate  weakness,  and  declared  that  a 
hardening  of  the  heart  was  the  chosen  token  of  the  elect.  Montrose 
defended  himself  with  eloquence,  to  vindicate  his  honor,  not  to  pre- 
serve his  life.  Ilis  discourse  was  worthy  of  the  most  eloquent  advo- 
cates of  Rome  or  Athens.  It  was  answered  by  a prompt  and  igno- 
minious execution. 

The  Presbyterian  ministers,  under  the  pretext  of  praying  for  his 
salvation,  after  having  demanded  his  blood,  came  to  insult  him  in  his 
dungeon  by  their  derisive  charity.  “ Have  pitjq  O Lord  !”  cried 
they  aloud,  “ on  this  unbeliever,  this  wicked  persecutor,  this  traitor, 
who  is  about  to  pass  from  the  scaffold  of  his  earthly  f)unishmenl  to 
the  eternal  condemnation  reserved  for  his  impieties." 

They  announced  that  the  sentence  condemned  him  “ to  be  hung  on 
a gibbet  thirty  feet  high,  where  he  was  to  be  exposed  during  three 
hours  ; that  his  head  would  then  be  cut  off  and  nailed  to  the  gates  of  his 
prison,  and  that  his  arms  and  legs,  severed  from  his  body,  would  be 
•listributed  to  the  four  principal  cities  of  the  kingdom.”  ■'  I only 
wish,”  replied  Montrose,  “ that  I had  limbs  enough  to  be  dispersed 
through  every  city  in  Europe,  to  bear  testimony  in  the  cause  for 
which  I have  fought  and  am  content  to  die.” 

Delivered  from  the  presence  of  his  religious  persecutors,  IMontrose, 
who  had  cultivated  poetry  as  the  relaxation  of  his  mind,  composed 
some  verses,  inspired  by  love  and  death,  in  which  he  perpetuated,  in 
language  that  will  endure  forever,  his  last  farewell  to  all  he  had 
valued  on  earth.  The  poet  in  these  parting  lines  is  worthj"  of  the 
hero.  On  the  following  day  he  underwent  his  punishment  with  the 
constancy  of  a martyr.  His  head  and  limbs  were  exposed,  according 
to  the  sentence,  in  the  four  leading  cities  of  Scotland.  Charles  the 
Second,  on  learning  at  .Jersey  the  defeat  and  death  of  his  friend,  with 
the  triumph  of  the  parliament,  hesitated  no  longer  to  accept  the  crown 
from  the  ensanguined  hands  of  the  Scotch  Presbyterians,  hencefor- 
ward without  competitors  in  Edinburgh.  He  disembarked  in  Scot- 
land, in  the  midst  of  the  army  which  came  to  meet  him.  The  first 
sight  that  greeted  his  ejms  was  a fragment  of  the  body  of  his  devoted 
partisan  IMontrose,  nailed  to  the  gate  of  the  city. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  what  must  have  been  the  reign  of  this  3mung 
sovereign  • enslaved  by  a parliament  ; watched  by  the  clergy  ; domi- 
neered over  by  the  generals  of  the  army  ; a prisoner  rather  than  a 
king  among  his  superstitious  subjects  ; obliged  to  feign,  in  order  to, 
conciliate  them,  a fanatical  austerity  which  he  laughed  at  in  his  heart  • 
persecuted  even  in  his  palace  b}'  the  exhortations  of  Presbyterian 
prophets,  who  spied  into  his  inmost  thoughts  and  construed  the  tight- 
ness of  jmuth  into  public  enormities.  One  morning  he  escaped  from 
them  by  flight,  preferring  liberty  to  a throne  held  on  such  conditions. 
He  was  overtaken  and  carried  back  to  Edinburgh  ; the  necessity  of 
bis  name  induced  them  to  grant  him  a small  addition  of  authority 


OLIVER  CROirWELL, 


53 


tLc  was  permitted  to  flgiil  at  the  head  of  the  army,  destined  to  invade 
England,  at  the  instigation  of  the  royalists  of  the  north.  Cromwell 
marched  against  him  and  entered  Scotland.  The  Prince  of  Wales, 
escaping,  with  14,000  Scotchmen,  from  the  ill-combined  manoeuvres 
of  his  opponent,  penetrated  boldly  through  the  rear  of  his  army  and 
advanced  into  the  heart  of  the  kingdom.  He  obtained  possession  of 
Worcester,  and  there  rallied  round  him  his  supporters  from  every 
quarter.  Cromw'cll,  surprised  hut  indefatigable,  allowed  him  no 
time  to  collect  reinforcements.  He  felt  upon  Worcester  with  40,000 
men,  fought  in  the  streets  of  the  town,  inundated  them  with  blood, 
and  utterly  dispersed  the  army  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  The  Prince 
himself,  after  performing  prodigies  of  valor,  worthy  of  his  rank  and 
pretensions,  escaped  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  attended  only  by  £ 
handful  of  devoted  cavaliers.  After  having  traversed  twenty  leagues 
in  a single  night,  they  abandoned  their  horses  and  dispersed  them- 
selves in  the  woods. 

Attended  only  by  the  Earl  of  Derby,  an  English  nobleman  who 
had  brought  him  succors  from  the  I.sle  of  i\Ian,  Charles  sought  refuge 
With  a farmer  named  Penderell,  assumed  the  garb  and  implements  of 
a woodcutter,  and  worked  with  the  four  sons  of  the  farmer,  to  deceive 
the  search  of  Cromwell’s  troopers,  scattered  through  the  fields  and 
forests  in  pursuit.  Sleeping  on  a bed  of  straw,  and  furnished  with 
coar.se  barley-bread  in  the  cottage  of  Penderell,  he  w'as  even  com- 
pelled, bj"  the  domiciliary  visits  of  the  puritans,  to  c^uit  that  humble 
abode  and  conceal  himself  for  several  nights  within  the  branches  of 
a large  tree,  called  ever  after  the  Bo^al  Oak,  the  thickly  spreading 
leaves  of  which  concealed  him  from  the  soldiers  posted  below. 

A royalist  colonel  named  Lane  sheltered  him  afterward  at  Bentley, 
and  assisted  him  to  reach  the  port  of  Bristol,  where  he  hoped  to  em- 
bark for  the  Continent.  The  feet  of  the  young  king  were  so. blistered 
by  walking  that  he  wurs  obliged  to  xjass  on  horseback  through  the 
districts  traversed  by  the  dragoons  of  the  enemy.  The  second 
daughter  of  Colonel  Lane  conducted  him  in  the  disguise  of  a peasant 
to  the  house  of  her  si.ster,  lilrs.  Morton,  in  the  vicinity  of  Bristol. 
Arriving  at  her  sister’s  abode,  she  intrusted  to  no  one  the  name  of 
the  young  countryman  who  attended  her  ; she  merely  asked  for  an 
apartment  and  a bed  for  him,  saying  that  he  was  suffering  from  a 
fever,  and  recommended  him  to  the  special  care  of  the  servants. 
One  of  them  entered  the  room  to  bring  him  refreshments.  The  noble 
and  majestic  countenance  of  the  prince  shone  forth  under  his  humble 
vestments,  and  carried  conviction  to  the  eyes  of  the  domestic.  He 
fell  on  his  knees  before  the  couch  of  Charles,  saluted  him  as  his 
master,  and  uttered  aloud  the  prayer  in  common  use  among  the  roy- 
alists for  the  preservation  of  the  king.  Charles  in  vain  endeavored 
to  deceive  him  ; he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  his  identity,  and  to 
enjoin  silence. 

From  thence,  not  being  able  to  find  a vessel  on  the  ooast,  he  was 


54 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


conveyed  to  the  residence  of  a widow  named  Windham,  who  had 
lost  her  Imsband  and  three  eldest  sons  in  the  cause  of  Charles  the 
First,  and  with  unshaken  devotion  now  offered  her  two  surviving 
ones  to  the  successor  of  the  decapitated  monarch.  She  received 
Charles,  not  as  a fugitive  hut  as  a king.  “ When  1113'  husband  la}^  on 
his  death-bed,”  said  she,  “ he  called  to  him  our  five  sons,  and  thus 
addressed  them  : ‘ My  children,  we  have  hitherto  enjoyed  calm  and 
peaceful  days  under  our  three  last  sovereigns  ; but  I warn  you  that 
I see  clouds  and  tempests  gathering  over  the  kingdom.  I perceive 
factions  springing  up  in  every  quarter,  which  menace  the  repose  of 
our  beloved  country.  Listen  to  me  well  ; whatever  turn  events  may 
take,  he  ever  tnie  to  ymur  lawful  sovereign  ; obey  him,  and  remain 
loyal  to  the  crown  ! Yes,’  added  he  with  vehemence,  ‘ I charge  you 
to  stand  hy  the  crown ^ even  though  it  should  hang  xiyon  a bush  !’  These 
last  words  engraved  their  duty  on  the  hearts  of  my'  children,”  con- 
tinued the  mother,  “ and  those  who  are  still  spared  to  me  are  yours, 
as  their  dead  brothers  were  given  to  y'our  father.” 

All  the  royalists  of  the  neighborhood  were  acquainted  with  and 
guarded  the  secret  of  the  residence  of  Charles  at  the  house  of  the 
Windhams.  ^ 'e  seal  of  fidelity'  was  upon  the  lips  as  upon  the  hearts 
of  the  entire  chantry'.  This  secret,  so  long  and  miraculously  kept, 
was  only  in  danger  of  being  betrayed  at  the  moment  when  the  young 
king,  still  disguised,  was  dying  toward  the  coast  to  place  the  seas 
between  his  head  and  the  sword  of  Cromwell.  His  horse  having 
loosened  a shoe,  a farrier  to  whom  he  applied  to  fasten  it,  with  the 
({uick  intelligence  of  his  trade,  examined  the  iron,  and  said,  in  a low 
and  suspicious  tone,  “ These  shoes  were  never  forged  in  this  country, 
hrtt  in  tlie  north  of  England.”  But  the  smith  proved  as  discreet  and 
faithful  as  the  servautT  Charles,  remounting  his  horse  without  dis- 
covery, galloped  toward  the  beach,  where  a skiff  was  waiting  for 
him.  The  Continent  a second  time  protected  him  from  the  pursuit 
of  Cromwell. 

■"^he  royalists  conquered,  the  king  beheaded,  the  Levellers  sup- 
pressed, Ireland  slaughtered,  Scotland  reduced*to  subjection,  the  no- 
bility cajoled,  the  parliament  tamed,  religious  factions  deadened  o; 
extinguished  by'  liberty  of  conscience,  the  maritime  war  against  IIol 
land  teeming  w'ith  naval  triumphs,  tlie  resignation  of  his  commane. 
by  Fairfax  through  disgust  and  repentance,  the  subservi(mcy  (>1 
iViouk,  left  by'  Cromwell  in  Edinburgh  to  keep  the  Scotch  in  order — 
the  voluntary',  servile,  and  crouching  submission  of  the  other  military 
leaders,  eager  to  rally  round  success — all  these  coinciding  events,  al' 
these  crimes,  all  these  acts  of  cringing  baseness,  all  these  accumulated 
successes,  •which  never  fail  to  attend  the  steps  of  the  favorites  of 
fortune  during  her  smiles,  left  nothing  for  f'romwell  to  desire,  if  the 
undisputed  possession  of  England  had  been  his  only  object.  But  all 
who  study  his  character  with  impartiality  will  perceive  that  he  had 
yet  another — the  possession  of  heaven.  His  future  salvation  occu 


OLIVER  CROMAVELL. 


55 


pled  his  thoughts  beyond  earthly  empire.  He  was  ne^'er  more  a 
iheologian  than  when  he  was  an  uncontrolled  dictator.  Instead  of 
announcing  his  sovereignty  under  a special  title,  he  allowed  his 
friends  to  proclaim  the  republic.  He  was  content  to  hold  the  sword 
and  dictate  the  word.  His  decrees  were  oracles  ; he  sought  only  to  be 
the  great  inspired  prophet  of  his  country.  His  correspondence  at  this 
epoch  attests  the  humble  thoughts  of  a father  of  a Christian  family, 
who  neither  desires  nor  foresees  a throne  as  the  inheritance  of  his 
children. 

“ Mount  your  father’s  little  farm-horse,  and  ride  not  in  luxurious 
carriages,”  he  writes  to  his  daughter-in-law,  Dorothy.  He  married 
his  eldest  son,  Richard,  to  the  daughter  of  one  of  his  friends,  of  mid- 
dle station  and  limited  fortune,  and  on  his  espousals  gave  him  more 
debts  than  property.  To  this  friend,  the  father-in-law  of  his  son,  he 
writes  thus  : I intrust  Richard  to  you  ; I ])ray  you  give  him  sage 

counsel  ; I fear  lest  he  should  suffer  himself  to  be  led  away  by  the 
vain  pleasures  of  the  world.  Induce  him  to  study  ; study  is  good, 
particularly  when  directed  to  things  eternal,  which  are  more  profitable 
than  the  idle  enjoyments  of  this  life.  Such  thoughts  will  fit  him  for 
the  public  service  to  which  men  are  destined.  ” 

“ Be  not  discouiaged,”  he  says  to  Lord  Wharton,  another  of  his 
own  sect;  “you  are  offended  because  at  the  elections  the  people 
often  choose  their  representatives  perversely,  rejecting  profitable 
members  and  returning  unfruitful  ones.  It  has  been  so  for  nine 
years,  and  behold,  nevertheless,  what  God  has  done  with  these  evil 
instruments  in  that  time.  Judge  not  the  manner  of  his  proceedings  !” 

“ With  you,  in  consequence  of  these  murmurings  of  the  spirit,” 
continues  Cromwell,  ‘ ’ there  is  trouble,  pain,  embarrassment,  and 
doubt ; with  me,  confidence,  certainty,  light,  satisfaction  ! Yes, 
complete  internal  satisfaction  ! Oh,  weakness  of  human  hearts  !” 
concluded  he,  hastily,  as  his  thoughts  fiowed  ; “ false  promises  of 
the  world  ! shortcoming  ideas  which  flatter  mortal  vanity  ! How 
much  better  is  it  to  be  the  follower  of  the  Lord,  in  the  heaviest 
work  ! In  this  holy  duty,  how  difficult  do  we  find  it  to  rise  above 
the  weakness  of  our  nature  to  the  elevation  of  the  service  which  God 
requires  from  us  ! How  soon  we  sink  under  discouragement  when 
the  flesh  prevails  over  the  spirit  !” 

The  pomp  and  enthusiasm  which  greeted  him  on  his  return  from 
the  double  conquest  of  Ireland  and  Scotland  dazzled  not  his  con- 
stancy. “You  see  that  crowd,  you  hear  those  shouts,”  he  whis- 
pered in  the  ear  of  a friend  who  attended  in  the  procession  ; “ both 
would  be  still  greater  if  I were  on  my  way  to  the  gallows.”  A light 
from  above  impressed  on  his  clear  judgment  the  emptiness  of  worldly 
popularity. 

His  private  letters  to  his  son  Richard  are  full  of  that  piety  and  do- 
mestic affection  which  we  should  never  expect  in  a man  whose  feet 
were  bathed  in  the  blood  of  his  king,  of  Ireland,  of  Scotland,  of 


56 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


England  ; but  whose  heart  was  cairn  in  the  serenity  of  a false  con 
science,  while  his  head  was  encircled  by  a glory  of  mysticism  which 
he  persuaded  himself  was  sincere. 

“ Your  letters  please  and  affect  me,”  he  wrote  to  Richard  Crom- 
well, addressing  him  by  the  infantine  diminutive  of  Dick  ; “ I love 
words  which  flow  naturally  from  the  heart,  without  study  or  re- 
search. I believe  that  the  special  goodness  of  heaven  has  placed  you 
in  the  family  where  you  now  reside.  Be  happy  and  grateful  for 
this  ; and  carefully  discharge  all  the  duties  you  owe  them,  for  the 
glory  of  God.  Seek  the  Lord  continuallj^  and  his  divine  presenee  ; 
make  this  the  object  of  jmur  life,  and  give  it  your  whole  strength. 
The  knowledge  of  God  dwells  not  in  books  and  theological  defini- 
tions ; it  comes  from  within  ; it  transforms  the  spirit  b}^  a divine  ac- 
tion independent  of  ourselves.  To  know  God  is  to  partake  his  divine 
nature,  in  him,  and  through  him  ! How  little  are  the  Holy  Scriptures 
known  among  us  ! May  my  feeble  prayers  fortify  your  intentions. 
Endeavor  to  understand  the  republic  I have  established,  and  the 
foundations  on  which  it  rests.  I have  suffered  much  in  giving  my- 
self up  to  others.  Your  wife’s  father,  m3'  intimate  associate,  Ma3'or, 
will  as.sist  you  with  much  information  on  this  point.  You  will,  per- 
haps, think  that  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  enjoin  you  to  love  3'our 
dear  wife.  Slay  the  Lord  instruct  }'ou  to  cherish  her  with  worldl3' 
affection,  or  3'ou  will  never  feel  for  her  a sainth'  regard.  When  the 
bed  and  the  love  are  pure,  such  an  union  is  justly  compared  to  that 
of  the  Lord  with  the  I0WI3'  members  of  his  Church.  Give  m3’  regards 
to  3’our  wife  ; tell  her  that  I love  her  w’ith  m3'  whole  heart,  and  I 
rejoice  in  the  favors  w'hich  heaven  has  poured  upon  her.  I earnestly 
pray  that  she  may  be  fruitful  in  every  sense  ; and  3'ou,  Dick,  ma3’ 
the  Lord  bless  you  with  many  blessings  ! 

“ Your  affectionate  father, 

“Oliver  Cromwell.” 

The  same  devotion  to  heavenly  matters,  mixed  with  uneasiness  re- 
specting the  affairs  of  this  world,  is  revealed  in  ever3'  line  of  his 
private  letters  to  his  earl3'  friends.  AVhat  cause  had  he  to  dissemble 
with  his  children  and  his  intimates?  What  a strange  h3'pocris3' 
must  that  have  l^een  wiiieh  never  dropped  the  mask  for  a single 
moment  throughout  his  life,  even  in  the  most  familiar  intercouise 
with  his  famil3',  and  in  his  last  hours,  when  he  lay  upon  the  beil  of 
death  ! 

“ I am  very  anxious  to  learn  how  the  little  fellow  goes  on”  (the 
child  of  Richard  and  Dorothy),  he  w'rites  to  the  father-in-law'  of  his 
son,  his  former  gossip  and  friend  ; “ I could  readil3'  scold  both  father 
and  mother  for  their  negligence  toward  me.  I know'  that  Richard  is 
idle,  but  I had  a better  opinion  of  Dorothy.  I fear  her  husband 


OLITER  CROMWELL. 


57 


spoils  her  ; tell  them  so  for  me.  If  Dorothy  is  again  in  the  family 
way,  I forgive  her,  but  not  otherwise.  Ma}^  the  Lord  bless  her  ! I 
hope  you  give  good  advice  to  my  sou  llichard  ; he  is  at  a dangerous 
period  of  life,  and  this  world  is  full  of  vanity.  How  good  it  is  to 
approach  the  Lord  early  ! We  should  never  lose  sight  of  this.  I 
hope  you  continue  to  remember  our  ancient  friendship.  You  see  how 
I am  occupied  ; I require  your  pity.  I know  what  I suffer  in  my 
own  heart.  An  exalted  situation,  a high  employment  in  the  world, 
are  not  worth  seeking  for.  I should  have  no  inward  consolation  in 
my  labors,  if  my  hope  and  rest  were  not  in  the  presence  of  the  Lord. 
I have  never  desired  this  earthly  grandeur  ! Truly,  the  Lord  himself 
has  called  me  to  it.  In  this  conviction  alone  I trust  that  he  will  be- 
stow upon  his  poor  worm,  his  feeble  servant,  the  force  to  do  his  will, 
and  reach  the  end  for  which  he  was  created.  To  this  effect  I demand 
your  prayers.  Remember  me  to  the  love  of  my  dear  sister,  to  my 
sou,  to  our  daughter  Dorothy,  and  to  my  cousin  Anna. 

“ I am  always  your  affectionate  brother, 

“ Oliver.” 

The  same  expressions,  rendered  still  more  tender  by  the  holy  union 
of  a long  life,  are  continually  repeated  with  emotion  in  his  corre- 
spondence with  his  wife.  The  following  letter  bears  the  superscrip- 
tion, ” For  my  beloved  wife,  Elizabeth  Cromwell.”  ‘‘  You  scold  me 
in  your  letters,  because  b}"  my  silence  I appear  to  forget  you  and  our 
children.  Truly,  it  is  I who  ought  to  complain,  for  I love  you  too 
much.  Thou  art  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world  ; let  that  suffice  ! 
The  Lord  has  shown  us  an  extreme  mercy.  I have  been  miraculous- 
ly sustained  within.  Notwitlistanding  that  I strive,  I grow  old,  and 
feel  the  infirmities  of  advancing  years  rapidly  pressing  on  me.  IMay 
God  grant  that  my  propensities  to  sin  may  diminish  in  the  same  pro- 
portion with  my  physical  powers.  Pray  for  me  that  I may  receive 
this  grace.” 

He  confirms  the  sL’ong,  he  fortifies  the  doubtful,  he  instructs  the 
weak  in  faith,  with  a burning  fever  of  conviction,  which  shows  how 
sincerely  he  was  himself  convinced.  He  perceives  that  his  zeal  some- 
times carries  him  to  extravagant  expressions.  ‘‘Pardon  me, ” he 
writes,  when  at  the  apogee  of  Ids  power,  to  a friend  who  had  kept 
aloof  from  him  in  consequence  of  his  military  severities  in  Ireland 
and  Scotland  ; ‘‘  sometimes  this  harshness  with  which  you  reproach 
me  has  been  productive  of  good  ; although  not  easily  made  evident, 
it  is  inspired  by  charity  and  zeal  ! I beseech  you  to  recognize  in  me 
a man  sincere  in  the  Lord.”  ‘‘  O Lord  !”  he  concludes,  “ I beseech 
thee,  turn  not  thj'  face  and  thy  mercy  from  my  eyes  ! Adieu.” 

On  another  occasion  he  addressed  his  wife  as  follows  : ‘‘  I cannot 
suffer  this  courier  to  depart  without  a word  for  you,  although,  in 
truth,  I have  little  to  write,  but  I do  so  for  the  sake  of  writing  to  my 
well-beloved  wife,  whose  image  is  always  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart 


58 


OLIVER  CROMTVELL. 


f May  the  Lord  multiply  his  blessings  upon  you.  The  great  and  only 
good  that  your  soul  can  desire  is  tliat  the  Lord  should  spread  over 
you  the  light  of  his  strength,  which  is  of  more  value  than  life  itself. 
May  his  blessing  light  on  your  instructions  and  example  to  our  dear 
children.  Pray  for  your  attached  Oliver.” 

His  son-in-law,  Fleetwood,  one  of  the  lieutenants  he  had  left  in 
command  in  Scotland  with  Monk,  shared  ecpiallj'  in  these  effusions, 
at  once  affectionate  and  theological.  After  expre.ssing  liis  grief  at 
being  neces.sarily  separated  by  business  from  that  portion  of  his 
family,  he  says,  in  writing  to  him,  “ Endirace  your  beloved  wife  for 
me,  and  caution  her  to  take  care  (in  her  piety)  of  nourishing  a servile 
heart.  Servility  produces  fear,  the  opposite  of  love.  Poor  Biddy  : 
I know  that  is  her  weak  point.  Love  reasons  veiy  differently. 
What  a father  we  possess  in  and  through  the  Saviour  I He  desig- 
nates himself  the  merciful,  the  patient,  the  bestowerof  all  grace,  the 
]iardoner  of  all  faults  and  transgressions  ! Truly  the  love  of  God  is 
sublime  ! Remember  me  to  my  son  Henr}' ; I pray  incessantly  that 
he  may  increase  and  fortify  himself  in  the  love  of  the  Lord,  Remem- 
ber me  to  all  the  officers.” 


Everj’thing  succeeded  with  Cromwell,  and  he  attributed  all  the 
glory  and  prosperity  of  the  republic  to  heaven.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence, either  public  or  private,  which  betrays  any  de.sire  on  his  part 
to  establish  his  fortune  and  power  by  a change  in  his  title  of  general, 
or  in  the  voluntary  submission  of  the  parliament,  the  army,  and  the 
people.  History,  which  ultimately  knows  and  reveals  everything, 
has  discovered  nothing  in  Cromwell  at  this  epoch  but  an  extreme  re- 
pugnance against  elevating  himself  to  a higher  position  It  is  evi- 
dent from  his  own  expressions  that  he  sought  God  in  his  will,  and 
the  oracle  of  God  in  events.  Neither  were  sufficient!}'  explained  to 
him.  Equally  ready  to  descend  or  rise,  he  waited  for  the  command 
or  the  inspiration.  Both  came  from  the  natural  instability  of  the 
people  and  the  ambitious  impatience  of  the  army. 

The  long  parliament  of  five  years’  duration,  christened,  by  one  of 
those  contemptuous  designations  which  mark  popular  disgust.  The 
Rump,  a term  suggested  by  its  apparently  interminable  sessions  upon 
the  benches  of  Westminster,  had  thoroughly  wearied  out  the  people 
'of  England.  The  long  harangues  of  the  puritans,  the  bigoted  dis- 
courses of  the  saints,  the  personal  unpopularity  of  the  demagogues, 
the  anti  social  absurdities  of  the  Levellers,  the  murder  of  an  innocent 
and  heroic  monarch,  which  penetrated  the  conscience  of  the  nation 
with  remorse,  the  imposts  and  slaughters  of  the  civil  war  ; finally, 
the  heavine.ss  of  that  anonymous  tyranny  which  the  people  endured 
more  impatiently  than  the  autocracy  of  a glorious  name — all  these 
combiued  objections  fell  back  in  accumulated  odium  and  ridicule  on 
the  parliament. 

Cromwell  had  had  the  art,  or  rather  the  good  fortune,  to  act  while 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


59 


the  parliament  talked,  to  strengthen  himself  as  they  became  weak,  to 
leave  on  them  the  responsibility  of  crime,  and  to  attribute  to  himself 
the  advantages  of  victory.  The  parliament,  uueonscious  of  weak- 
ness, began  to  writhe  under  a master.  Five  or  six  influential  repub- 
licans thought  to  compass  the  fall  of  Cromwell.  Sir  Henry  Vane,  their 
principal  orator,  disputed  altogether  the  intervention  of  military 
authoritj'.  His  speech  was  received  with  significant  applause,  which 
sounded  like  a menace  to  the  army.  The  principal  leaders  present 
in  Loudon,  foreseeing  the  danger,  united  together,  and  petitioned 
Cromwell  to  insist  on  the  dissolution  of  this  corrupted  senate.  Crom- 
well, who  has  been  accused  of  suggesting  the  petition  to  the  army, 
h.ad  no  participation  in  the  act.  It  is  never  necessary  to  suggest  am 
bition  to  generals,  or  despotism  to  soldiers.  The  petition  was  too 
plain  to  be  mistaken.  The  strife  between  the  army  and  the  parlia- 
ment was  hastening  to  the  issue.  The  victory  of  either  would  equall}’ 
sweep  away  Cromwell,  if  he  persisted  in  remaining  neuter.  “ Take 
care  ; stop  this  in  time,  or  it  will  prove  a very  serious  affair,”  whis- 
pered in  a low  voice  Bulstrode,  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends, 
while  the  officers  were  haranguing  on  their  petition.  Cromwell  hesi- 
tated to  decide,  and  confined  himself  to  thanking  their  orator  for  the 
zeal  demonstrated  by  the  army  in  the  public  safety.  Night  and  re- 
flection suggested  to  him  the  course  he  should  pursue.  He  attempt- 
ed to  bring  about  an  accommodation  between  the  army  and  the  parlia- 
ment, in  a conference  held  in  his  presence.  The  parliament  filled  up 
ih(  full  measure  of  their  demands  by  requiring  a permanent  com- 
mittee, chosen  from  the  present  members,  who  should  ratify  or 
inval'date,  at  their  own  pleasure,  all  future  elections. 

“ Tills  is  too  much  !”  exclaimed  Cromwell,  at  last,  and  still  un- 
decided, when  he  was  informed  of  this  unqualified  proposal  It  was 
on  the  20th  y April,  early  in  the  morning  ; he  was  walking  up  and 
down  his  room,  dressed  in  black,  with  gray  stockings.  He  came 
forth  in  this  simple  costume,  crying  out  to  all  he  encountered,  “ This 
is  unjust ! It  is  dishonest  ! It  is  not  even  the  commonest  honesty.  ’ ' 
As  he  passed  bj-  he  ordered  an  officer  of  his  guards  to  repair  with 
three  hundred  soldiers  to  "Westminster  and  take  possession  of  all  the 
avenues  to  the  palace.  He  entered  himself,  and  sat  down  in  his  usual 
place,  apparently  listening  for  some  time  in  silence  to  the  debates. 
The  republican  orators  and  members  were  at  that  moment  speaking 
in  favor  of  the  bill,  which  was  to  assure  the  perpetuity  of  their 
power,  by  giving  them  arbitrarj'  control  over  all  future  elections. 
The  bill  was  going  to  be  put  to  the  question,  when  Cromwell,  as  if 
he  had  waited  the  moment  to  strike  the  whole  body  at  the  crisis  of 
their  iniquitous  tyranny,  raised  his  head,  hitherto  reclined  between 
his  hands,  and  made  a sign  to  Harrison,  his  most  fanatical  follower, 
to  come  and  sit  close  to  him.  Harrison  obeyed  the  signal.  Crom- 
well  remained  silent  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then,  as  if 
suddenly  yielding,  in  his  own  despite,  to  an  internal  impulse,  which 


60 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


conquered  al.  hesitation  in  his  .soul,  exclaimed  to  Harrison,  “ The 
moment  has  arrived  ! I feel  it !”  He  rose,  advanced  toward  the 
piesident,  laid  his  hat  upon  the  table,  and  prepared  to  speak  amid 
the  profound  silence  and  consternation  of  his  colleagues.  According 
to  his  ordinary  custom,  his  slow  phraseology,  obscure,  embarrassed, 
incoherent,  full  of  circumlocution  and  parentheses,  rambling  from 
one  point  to  another,  and  loaded  with  repetitions,  rendered  his  train 
of  thought  and  reasoning  almost  unintelligible.  He  began  bj^  such  a 
warm  eulogium  on  the  services  which  the  parliament  had  rendered  to 
tlie  cause  of  liberty  and  free  conscience,  and  to  the  country  in  gen- 
eral, that  the  members  who  had  proposed  the  bill  expected  that  he 
was  going  to  side  with  them  in  its  favor,  lilurmurs  of  encourage- 
ment and  satisfaction  arose  from  the  republican  party  as  he  paused 
on  an  emphatic  period  ; when  suddenly,  as  if  long-suppressed  anger 
had  at  last  mastered  his  thoughts,  and  inflamed  the  words  uxton  his 
lips,  he  resumed,  and  looking  tvith  a stern  and  contemptuous  air  on 
the  fiftj'-seven  members  who  on  that  day  composed  the  entire  parlia- 
ment, passed  at  once  by  rapid  transition  from  tlatterv  to  insult.  He 
enumerated  all  the  cringing  baseness  and  insolence  of  that  corrupt 
body,  alternately  xtractised  for  rev'olt  or  servitude,  and  fulminated 
against  them,  in  the  name  of  God  and  the  people,  a sentence  of  con- 
demnation. 

At  these  unexpected  invectives,  for  which  his  complimentaiy  exor- 
dium had  so  little  xirepared  them,  the  members  rose  in  a burst  of  in- 
dignation, The  president,  worthy  of  his  office  by  his  courage,  com- 
manded him  to  be  silent,  lYeutworth,  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
and  influential  of  the  extreme  party  by  his  personal  character,  de- 
manded that  he  should  be  called  to  order.  “This  language,”  said 
he,  “ is  as  extraordinaiy  as  criminal  in  the  mouth  of  a man  who  j’es- 
terda}'  x^ossessed  our  entire  confidence,  whom  we  have  honored  with 
the  highest  functions  of  the  republic  ! of  a man  wno — ” Cromwell 
would  not  suffer  him  to  couclirde.  “ Go  to  ! go  to  !”  exclaimed  he 
in  a voice  of  thunder,  “ we  have  had  enough  of  words  like  these.  It 
is  time  to  x^ut  an  end  to  all  this,  and  to  silence  these  babblers  !”  Then, 
advancing  to  the  middle  of  the  hall,  and  placing  his  hat  on  his  head 
with  a gesture  of  defiance,  he  stamited  upon  the  floor,  and  cried 
aloud,  “ You  are  no  longer  a x^arliament ! You  shall  not  sit  here  a 
single  hour  longer  ! Make  room  for  better  men  than  3’ourselves  !’’ 
At  these  words,  Harrison,  instructed  b}’  a glance  from  the  general,  dis- 
axqjearcd,  and  returned  in  a moment  after  at  the  head  of  thirtj'  soldiers, 
veterans  of  the  long  civil  wars,  who  surrounded  Cromwell  with  their 
naked  wea|30us.  These  men,  hired  by  the  x'>arliament,  hesitated  not 
at  the  command  of  their  leader  to  turn  their  arms  against  those  who 
had  placed  them  in  their  hands,  and  furnished  another  example,  fol- 
lowing the  Rubicon  of  CoBsar,  to  x^rove  the  incompatibility  of  freedom 
with  standing  armies.  “ Miserable  wretches  !”  resumed  Cromwell, 
as  if  violence  without  insult  was  insutficient  for  his  anger,  “ 3 0U  cal/ 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


bl 


yourselves  a parliament ! You  ! — no,  you  are  nothing  but  a mass  o! 
tipplers  and  libertines  ! Thou,”  he  continued,  pointing  with  his  fin- 
ger to  the  most  notorious  profligates  iu  the  assembly,  as  they  passed 
him  in  their  endeavors  to  escape  from  the  liall,  “ thou  art  a drunk- 
ard ! Thou  art  an  adulterer  ! And  thou  art  a hireling,  paid  for  thy 
speeches  ! You  are  all  scandalous  sinners,  who  bring  shame  ou  the 
gospel!  And  you  fancied  yourselves  a fitting  parliament  for  God’s 
people  I No,  no,  begone  ! let  me  hear  no  more  of  you  1 The  Lord 
rejects  you  I” 

During  these  apostrophes,  the  members,  forced  by  the  soldiers, 
were  driven  or  dragged  from  the  hall.  Cromwell  returned  toward 
the  table,  and  lifting  with  a contemptuous  air  the  silver  mace,  the 
venerated  symbol  of  parliamentary  sovereignty,  showed  it  to  Harri- 
son, and  said,  “ What  shall  we  do  with  this  bauble  ? Take  it  away.” 
One  of  the  soldiers  stepped  forward  and  obeyed  him.  Cromwell 
turned  round  and  saw  behind  him  Lenthall,  the  speaker  of  the  House 
of  Commous,  who,  faithful  to  his  delegated  duty,  retained  his  place 
and  refused  to  surrender  up  right  to  force.  “Descend  from  that 
seat,”  cried  aloud  the  Dictator.  “ I shall  not  abandon  the  post  the 
parliament  has  confided  to  me,”  replied  Lenthall,  “ until  I am  com- 
pelled by  violence.”  At  these  words  Harrison  rushed  forward, 
dragged  him  from  his  chair,  and  thrust  him  into  the  midst  of  the 
soldiers. 

Cromwell  carried  away  the  keys  of  Westminster  Hall  in  his 
pocket.  “ I do  not  hear  a dog  bark  in  the  city,”  he  wrote  to  a friend 
a few  days  afterward.  The  long  parliament,  so  powerful  to  destroy, 
proved  itself  impotent  to  re-establish.  The  civil  war  excited  by  this" 
very  parliament  had  produced  the  never-failing  consequences  ; it  had 
substituted  the  army  for  the  people,  and  had  created  a dictatorship  in 
the  place  of  a government.  It  had  extinguished  right  and  inaugu- 
rated force.  A single  man  had  taken  the  place  of  the  country.  ix' 

This  individual  was  Cromwell.  Men  always  gain  credit  from  the 
force  of  events  and  the  power  of  circumstances.  Results  which  are 
ttftou  the  effect  of  chance  are  supposed  to  be  achieved  by  long 
concerted  ambition,  slow  premeditation,  and  wily  combinations. 
Everything  unites  in  this  instance  to  show,  on  the  contrary,  that  the 
outrage  of  Cromwell  against  the  Commons  was  unpremeditated,  that 
he  was  urged  on  to  it  by  the  influence  of  passing  occurrences,  by  the 
people  and  the  army,  and  that  he  was  decided  at  the  last  moment  by 
that  internal  feeling  which  Socrates  called  his  demon,  Cajsar  his 
counsellor,  Mahomet  his  angel  Gabriel,  and  Cromwell  his  inspiration 
^that  divinity  of  great  instincts  which  strikes  conviction  to  the 
mind  and  sounds  the  hour  in  the  ear.  The  laborious  efforts  made 
by  Cromwell  to  reconcile  on  the  preceding  evening  the  parliament 
and  the  army  ; the  new  parliament  that  he  convoked  on  the  following 
day,  and  to  which  he  transferred  all  legislative  authority,  without 
even  reserving  to  hinaself  the  right  of  sanctioning  the  laws  ; and 


62 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


finally  a political  conversation  which  took  place  some  days  before 
with  closed  doors  between  him  and  his  leading  advisers  in  these 
matters — all  appeared  to  attest  that  this  thunderclap  emanated  spon- 
taneously from  an  accumulation  of  clouds. 

Cromwell  and  his  council  occupied  themselves  at  this  debate  in 
seeking  out,  amid  the  wrecks  of  the  destroy'ed  monarchy,  the  ele- 
ments of  a parliamentary  constitution.  The  members  present  were 
Cromwell,  Harrison,  his  disciple  ; Desborotigh,  Cromwell’s  brother-in- 
law  ; Oliver  Cromwell,  his  cousin  ; Whitelocke,  his  friend.;  Widdring 
ton,  an  eminent  orator  and  statesman  of  the  Commons  : the  speake: 
of  the  House,  Lenthall,  and  several  other  officers  or  members,  en- 
lightened republicans. 

“ It  is  proposed,”  said  Harrison,  ” to  consider  together,  in  conceit 
with  the  general,  how  we  should  organize  a government.” 

“The  great  ciuestion  is,  in  fact,”  saivl  Whitelocke,”  whether  we 
shall  constitute  absolute  republicanism  or  a republic  combined  with 
some  of  the  elements  of  monarchy  ?” 

“ Just  so,”  said  Cromwell  ; “ shall  we  then  establish  a complete  re- 
public, or  one  qualified  by  some  monarchical  principles  and  monar- 
chical authority  ? And  in  the  latter  case,  in  whose  hands  shall  we 
place  the  power  thus  borrowed  from  the  crown  ?” 

Widdriugtou  argued  for  a mixed  government,  which  should  com- 
bine republican  liberty  and  monarchical  authority,  and  that  the  latter 
shotdd  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  its  natural  possessor,  one  of  the  sons 
of  the  decapitated  king.  Widdrington,  who  was  a flatterer,  and  of 
a gentle  disposition,  would  not  have  made  such  a proposal  before 
Cromwell  if  he  could  have  divined  that  the  dictator  possessed  an  in- 
satiable ambition  in  himself,  which  would  never  allow  him  to  pardon 
this  suggestion. 

“ It  is  a delicate  question,”  said  Fleetwood,  without  compromising 
himself  further. 

The  lord  chancellor,  St.  .Tohn,  declared  that  m his  opinion,  unless 
they  desired  to  undermine  all  the  old  laws  and  customs  of  the  nation, 
a large  portion  of  monarchical  power  would  be  necessary^  in  any  gov- 
ernment that  they  might  establish. 

“ There  would,  in  fact,  be  a strange  overturning  of  all  things,”  said 
tlie  speaker,  “ if  in  our  government  there  were  not  something  of  the 
monarchical  character.” 

Desborough,  Cromwell’s  relative  and  a colonel  in  the  army,  de- 
clared that  he  saw  no  reason  why  England  should  not  govern  itself 
on  republican  principles,  after  the  example  of  so  many  other  ancient 
and  modern  nations. 

Colonel  Whalley  pronounced  with  his  military  colleague  in  favor 
of  pure  republicanism.  “ The  eldest  sou  of  our  king  is  in  arms 
against  us,”  said  he  , “ his  second  son  is  equally  our  enemy,  and  yet 
you  deliberate.” 

'■  But  the  king’s  third  son,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  is  in  oui 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


63 


iiands,”  rejoined  Widdrington  ; “ lie  is  too  young  to  have  raised  his 
hand  against  us,  or  to  have  been  infected  by  the  principles  of  our 
enemies.” 

“ The  two  eidest  sons  can  he  summoned  to  attend  the  parliament 
upon  an  appointed  day,  and  debate  with  them  upon  the  conditions  of 
a free  monarchical  government,”  said  Whitelocke,  without  fearing  to 
offend  Cromw^ell. 

Cromw'ell,  hitherto  silent  and  unmoved,  now  spoke  in  his  turn. 
“ That  would  beadifflcult  negotiation,”  said  he  ; ” nevertheless  I do 
not  think  it  would  be  impossible,  provided  our  rights  as  Englishmen 
as  well  as  Christians  are  secured  ; and  I am  convinced  that  a liberal 
constitution,  with  a strong  dose  of  monarchical  principles  in  it,  would 
be  the  salvation  of  England  and  religion.” 

Btill  they  arrived  at  no  conclusion.  Cromwell  appeared  to  lean 
toward  the  republic  consolidated  by  monarchical  authority,  confided 
to  one  of  the  king’s  sons  ; a government  which  W'ould  have  assured 
to  himself  the  long  guardianship  of  a child,  and  to  the  country  the 
peaceable  transmission  of  national  power  and  liberty. 

A council,  entirely  selected  by  him  from  his  partisans  and  most 
fanatical  friends  assembled,  and  constituted  a repuljlican  form  of 
government  under  a protector. 

One  individual  alone  possessed  all  the  executive  power  for  life  ; 
this  was  Cromwell  : and  one  elected  body  retained  all  the  legislative 
authority  ; this  was  the  parliament.  Such  was  in  its  simplicity  the 
whole  mechanism  of  the  English  constitution — an  actual  dictator, 
with  a more  acceptable  and  specious  name,  w'hich  disguised  servitude 
under  the  appearance  of  confidence,  and  power  under  that  of 
equality. 

All  the  prerogatives  of  royalty  devolved  upon  Cromwell,  even  that 
of  dissolving  parliament  and  of  appointing  a new  election  in  case  of 
a conflict  betw'een  the  two  powers.  He  had,  moreover,  the  almost 
dynastic  privilege  of  naming  his  successor.  He  had  sons  ; what, 
therefore,  was  wanting  to  his  actual  royalty  but  the  crown  ? Cromwell 
sufficiently  showed  by  the  ten  years  of  his  absolute  go  vornment  tfiat 
he  was  far  from  desiring  it.  Though  he  felt  himself  the  elect  of  God,~ 
chosen  by  inspiration  to  govern  his  people,  he  by  no  means  felt  tha' 
the  same  inspiration  extended  to  his  family.  He  took  only  from  the 
nation  that  which  he  believed  he  received  from  heaven — the  responsi 
hility  of  governing  for  life — trusting  the  rest  to  other  divine  inspira- 
tions which  would  raise  up  successors  equally  inspired  with  himself. 

In  studying  attentively  his  conduct,  we  find  his  entire  sect  revealed 
in  his  politics.  It  was  then  more  difficult  for  him  to  elude  the  title 
of  king  than  to  accept  jt.  The  parliament  would  gladly  have  placed 
him  on  the  throne  to  fortify  themselves  against  the  arm}^  ; the  army 
almost  forced  it  upon  him  to  deliver  themselves  from  the  parliament. 
In  Cromwell’s  speeches  before  the  newly-elected  house,  we  find  the 
truth  of  ail  his  self-denial.  Far  from  desiring  a higher  title,  he  even 


64 


OLIVER  CR03IWELL. 


tried  to  release  himself  from  that  of  protector,  -which  he  had  heeD 
forced  to  accept. 

“ The  members  of  the  council,  of  the  Commons,  and  of  the  army 
who  have  debated,'’  said  he,  “ in  my  absence  upon  this  constitution, 
did  not  communicate  their  plan  to  me  until  it  had  been  deliberately 
and  ripely  considered  by  them.  I opposed  repeated  delays  and  re- 
fusals to  their  proposals.  They  showed  me  plainly  that  if  I did  not 
change  the  present  government  all  would  be  involved  in  confusion, 
ruin,  and  civil  war  ; I was,  t’nerefore,  obliged  to  consent,  in  spite  of 
my  great  repugnance,  to  assume  a new  title.  All  went  well.  I 
wished  for  no  more  ; I was  satisfied  with  my  position.  I possessed 
arbitrary  power  in  the  general  command  of  the  national  army  ; and 
I venture  to  say,  with  the  approbation  of  both  arm}^  and  people.  I 
believe,  in  all  sincerit}^  that  1 should  have  been  more  acceptable  to 
them  if  I had  remained  as  I was,  and  had  declined  this  title  of  pro- 
tector. I call  upon  the  members  of  this  assembly,  the  officers  of  the 
army,  and  the  people,  to  bear  witness  to  my  resistance,  even  to  the 
point  of  doing  violence  to  my  own  feelings.  Let  them  speak ; let 
them  proclaim  this.  It  has  not  been  done  in  a corner,  but  in  open 
day,  and  applauded  by  a large  majority  of  the  nation.  I do  not  wish 
to  bo  believed  on  my  own  w’ord,  to  be  my  own  witness  ; let  the  peo- 
jrle  of  England  be  my  testimonies  ! However,  I swear  to  uphold  this 
constitution,  and  consent  to  be  dragged  upon  a hurdle  from  my  tomb, 
and  buried  in  infamy,  if  I suffer  it  to  be  violated.  IVe  are  lost  in  dis- 
putes carried  on  in  the  name  of  the  liberty  of  Enyland!  This  libertj'- 
God  alone  can  give  to  us.  Henceforward  none  are  privileged  before 
God  or  man.  The  plenitude  of  legislative  power  belongs  to  us.  I 
am  bound  to  obey  you  if  you  do  not  listen  to  my  remonstrances  ; I 
shall  first  remark  upon  your  laws,  and  then  I must  submit.” 

He  kept  his  word  faithfully  ; he  only  reserved  his  inspiration  as  his 
sole  prerogative  ; and  as  often  as  he  saw  the  spirit  cf  resistance,  of 
faction,  or  of  languor  in  his  Houses  of  Commons,  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  dissolve  them  as  he  had  dissolved  their  predecessor,  the  long  jrar- 
liament. 

The  confined  space  that  the  nature  of  this  work  imposes  on  the  his- 
torian obliges  us  to  pass  over  some  of  the  less  important  acts  of  his 
administration.  This  interregnum  added  more  strength  and  pros- 
perity to  England  than  the  nation  had  ever  experienced  under  her 
most  illustrious  monarchs.  Factions  had  recognized  the  authority  of 
the  leader  of  factions.  Nothing  is  more  compliant  or  more  servile 
than  subjugated  parties.  As  they  are  generally  endowed  with  more 
insolence  than  strength,  and  more  passion  than  patriotism,  when  the 
passion  is  exhausted  within  them  factions  resemble  balloons,  which 
appear  to  occupy  a large  space  in  the  heavens,  and  are  confounded 
with  the  stars  wffien  they  ascend  in  their  inflation  , but  when  the  gas 
evaporates  they  fall  coUapsed  to  the  ground,  and  a child  may  hold 
them  in  its  hand.  True  patriotism  and  the  real  spirit  of  liberty  were 


OLIVER  CROjnVELL. 


65 


not  annihilated  even  by  the  ten.  years’  eclipse  of  parliamentary  fac' 
tions. 

The  English  nation,  proud  of  having  so  long  banished  kings  with- 
out being  lowered  in  the  eyes  of  Europe,  and  without  internal 
divisions,  only  recalled  their  monarchs  upon  the  understanding  that 
those  prerogatives  and  dignities  of  the  people  were  secured  which 
made  England  a true  representative  republic,  with  a royal  and  hered- 
itary protector,  the  crowning  glory  of  this  free  government.  The 
idea  was  borrowed  from  Cromwell  himself,  as  we  have  seen  in  his 
conference  with  his  friends.  He  ruled  as  a patriot,  who  only  thought 
of  the  greatness  aud  power  of  his  country,  and  not  as  a king,  who 
would  have  been  reduced  to  temporize  with  different  parties  or  courts 
for  the  interests  of  his  kingdom.  He  had,  moreover,  through  the 
supreme  power  of  the  republic,  the  strength  to  accomplish  that  which 
was  beyond  the  power  of  kings.  Republics  bring  an  increase  of 
vigor  to  the  nation.  This  increase  mr^tiplies  the  energy  of  the  gov- 
ernment by  the  collected  energy  of  the  people.  They  do  not  even 
find  that  impossible  which  has  palsied  the  resolution  of  twenty  mon- 
archies. Anonymous  and  in-espousible,  they  accomplish  by  the 
hands  of  all,  revolutions,  changes,  and  enterprises,  such  as  no  single 
roi'alty  could  ever  venture  to  dream  of. 

It  was  thus  that  Cromwell  had  conquered  a king,  subjugated  an 
aristocracy,  put  an  end  to  religious  war,  crushed  the  Levellers,  re- 
pressed the  parliament,  established  liberty  of  conscience,  disciplined 
the  army,  formed  the  navy,  triumphed  by  sea  over  Holland,  Soam, 
and  the  Genoese,  eonquered  Jamaica  and  those  colonies  since  become 
Empires  in  the  Hew  World  ; obtained  possession  of  Dunkirk,  couu 
terbalanced  the  power  of  France,  and  obliged  the  ministers  of  the 
youthful  Louis  the  Fourteenth  to  make  concessions  and  alliances 
with  him  ; and  finally,  by  his  lieutenants  or  in  person,  annexed  Ire- 
land and  Scotland  to  England  so  irrevocably  that  he  accomplished 
the  union  of  the  British  empire  by  this  federation  of  thi'ee  discordaut 
kingdoms,  whose  struggles,  alliances,  skirmishes,  and  quarrels  con- 
tained the  germ  of  eternal  weakness,  and  threatened  destruction  to 
the  whole  fabric.  The  revolution  lent  him  its  aid  to  put  down  des- 
potism on  the  one  hand  and  factions  on  the  other,  and  to  accomplish 
a complete  nationality. 

All  this  was  accomplished  in  ten  years,  under  the  name  of  a dicta- 
tor ; but  in  reality  by  the  power  of  the  republic,  which,  to  effect 
these  great  works,  had  become  concentrated,  incarnated,  and  disci- 
plined in  his  single  person.  This  might  have  occurred  in  France  in 
1790,  if  the  French  Revolution  had  selected  a dictator  for  life  from 
one  of  the  great  revolutionists  animated  by  fanaticism,  such  as  Mira- 
beau,  Lafayette,  or  Danton,  instead  of  confiding  to  a soldier  the  task 
of  forming  a new  empire  upon  the  old  foundations. 

A domestic  misfortune  struck  Cromwell  to  the  heart  at  this  exalted 
epoch  of  his  life  ; and  we  are  astonished  to  behold  the  ipan  moved,  V 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


B6 

tears  who  liad  witnessed  with  drj'  eyes  the  unfortunate  Charles  the 
First  torn  from  his  children’s  arms  to  perish  on  the  scaffold.  He 
lost  his  mother  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety-four.  This  was  the 
Elizabeth  Stuart,  a descendant  of  that  race  of  kings  which  her  son 
had  dethroned.  She  was  sincerely  religious,  mother  of  a numerous 
family,  the  source  of  their  piety  and  the  nurse  of  their  virtues  ; she 
inspired  them  with  a lively  passion  for  the  liberty  of  conscience, 
which  their  sect  upheld,  and  enjoyed,  in  the  full  pos.session  of  her 
faculties,  the  mortal  fame,  but  above  all  the  heavenly  glor}',  of  the 
greatest  of  her  sons,  the  Maccabfeus  of  her  faith.  Cromwell,  in  all 
his  greatness,  respected  and  regarded  his  mother  as  the  root  of  his 
heart,  his  belief,  and  his  destiny. 

“ The  Lord  Protector’s  mother”  (wrote  at  this  date,  16.54,  the  pri- 
vate secretary  of  Cromwell,  Thurloe),  ” died  last  night,  nearly  a cen- 
tury old.  At  the  moment  when  she  was  about  to  expire  she  sum- 
moned her  son  to  her  bedside,  and  extending  her  hands  to  bless  him. 
said,  ‘ Jlay  the  splendor  of  the  Lord’s  countenance  continually  shine 
upon  you,  my  son.  May  he  sustain  you  in  adversity,  and  render 
your  strength  equal  to  the  great  things  which  tlie  Most  Mighty  has 
charged  you  to  accomplish,  to  the  glorj'  of  his  I10I3'  name  and  the 
welfare  of  his  people.  M}'  dear  son,’  added  she,  dwelling  on  that 
name  in  which  she  glorieil  even  in  her  dying  moments ; ‘ mj'  dear 
sou,  I leave  my  spirit  and  my  heart  with  you  ; farewell  ! farewell  : ’ 
and  she  fell  back,”  continued  Thurloe,  ” uttering  her  last  sigh.” 
Cromwell  burst  into  tears,  like  a man  who  had  lost  a portion  of  the 
light  which  illuminated  hisdaikness.  His  mother,  who  loved  him 
as  a son,  and  respected  him  as  the  chosen  instrument  of  Cod,  lived 
with  him  at  the  palace  of  Whitehall,  but  in  a retiied  and  unadorned 
tqrartment,  “ not  wishing,”  as  she  said,  “ to  appropriate  to  herself 
and  her  other  children  that  splendor  which  the  Lord  had  conferred 
upon  him  alone  but  which  resembled  only  the  furniture  of  an 
hotel,  to  which  she  did  not  desire  to  attach  her  heart  or  to  rely 
upon  it  for  the  future  subsistence  of  her  family.  Anxious  cares  dis- 
turbed her  days  and  nights  in  this  regal  palace,  and  she  regretted  her 
simple  country  farm  in  the  principality  of  Wales. 

The  hatred'  of  the  royalists,  the  jealousj  of  the  republicans,  the 
auger  of  the  Levellers,  the  sombre  fanaticism  of  the  Presbyterians, 
the  vengeance  of  the  Irish  and  Scotch,  the  plots  of  the  parliament, 
always  present  to  her  mind,  showed  her  the  poniard  or  the  pistol  of 
the  assassin  aimed  incessantly  at  the  heart  of  her  son.  Although 
she  had  formerly  been  courageono,  she  could  not  latterly  licar  the 
report  of  firearms  in  the  court  without  shuddering  and  running  to 
Cromweil’s  apartments,  to  assure  herseif  of  his  safety.  Cromwell 
caused  his  mother  to  lie  buried  with  the  funeral  obsequies  of  a queen, 
more  as  a proof  of  his  filial  piety  thru  of  his  ostentation.  She  was 
interred  in  the  midst  of  royal  and  illustrious  dust,  under  the  porch  of 
Westminster  Abbey,  the  St  Denis  of  British  dynasties  and  departed 
heroism. 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


87 


Cromwell  had  himself  thought  for  some  years  that  he  should  per 
ish  by  assassination.  He  wore  a cuirass  under  his  clothes,  and  car- 
ried defensive  arms  within  reach  of  his  hand.  He  never  slept  long 
in  the  same  room  in  the  palace,  continually  changing  his  bed-cham- 
ber to  mislead  domestic  treason  and  military  plots.  A despot,  he 
suffered  the  punishment  of  tyrannv.  The  unseen  weight  of  the 
natred  which  he  had  accumulated  weighed  upon  his  imagination 
and  disturbed  his  sleep.  The  least  murmuring  in  the  army  appeared 
to  him  like  the  presage  of  a rebellion  against  his  power.  Sometimes 
he  punished,  sometimes  ho  caressed  those  of  his  lieutenants  whom  he 
suspected  would  revolt.  He  encouraged  Warwick,  flattered  Fair 
fax,  subdued  Ireton  with  much  difficulty  reconciled  the  republican 
Fleetwood,  who  had  married  one  of  his  daughters,  also  a republican 
and  as  strongly  opposed  to  the  dictator  as  her  husband  ; he  banished 
Monk  ; he  trembled  before  the  intriguing  spirit  and  popularity  of 
Lambert,  a general  who  one  moment  sought  to  join  the  royalists,  the 
next  the  republicans,  and,  finally,  the  malcontents  of  the  army.  He 
feared  to  wound  or  alienate  the  military  section  by  dealing  harshly 
with  this  ambitious  soldier.  He  compensated  for  the  command  he 
took  from  him  by  a pocketful  of  money,  which  secured  his  obedi- 
ence through  the  powerful  bonds  of  corruption.  But  parties  were 
too  much  divided  in  England  to  combine  in  a mortal  conspiracy 
against  the  dictator,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Roman  senate  against 
Caesar.  The  one  was  a check  and  spy  upon  the  other.  Cromwell 
was  permitted  to  live  because  none  felt  certain  that  they  should 
profit  by  his  death.  Nevertheless  he  was  c onscious  of  his  unpopu- 
larit3^ ; his  modest  ambition  and  his  ten  speeches  to  the  different  par- 
liaments during  the  interregnum  attest  the  efforts,  sometimes  humil- 
iating,  to  which  he  descended  to  obtain  pardon  for  having  seized  the 
supreme  power.  We  should  be  incapable  of  understanding  the  man 
if  we  were  not  acquainted  with  his  style.  The  soul  speaks  in  the 
tongue.  We  comprehend  a few  sentences  iu  this  deluge  of  phrase- 
ology. The  meaning  seems  confounded  in  a mass  of  verbiage,  alter- 
nately cringing  and  imperious.  We  see  throughout,  the  farmer 
promoted  to  the  throne  and  the  sectarian  converting  the  tribune 
into  a pulpit  to  preach  to  his  congregations  after  he  has  subdued 
them.  “ What  had  become,”  said  he,  in  his  first  speech  to  the 
united  representatives  of  the  three  kingdoms  after  the  dissolution  of 
the  long  parliament ; ‘ ‘ what  had  become,  before  jmur  time,  of  those 
fundamental  privileges  of  England,  liberty  of  conscience  and  liberty 
af  citizenship  ? Two  possessions,  for  which  it  is  as  honorable  and 
just  to  contend  as  for  anj'  of  the  benefits  which  God  has  vouchsafed 
to  us  on  earth.  Formerly  the  Bible  c-mld  nut  be  printed  without  the 
permission  ot  a magistrate  ! Was  not  that  placing  the  free  faith  of 
the  people  at  the  mercy  of  the  legislative  authority?  Was  it  not 
denying  civil  and  religious  liberty  to  this  nation,  who  have  received 
those  unalienable  rights  with  their  blood?  Who  now  shall  dare  to 


68 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


impose  such  restrictions  on  the  public  conscience  ?”  He  fulminated, 
more  in  the  tone  of  a prophet  than  a statesman,  against  the  “ fifth 
monarchy  men,”  a religious  and  political  sect  who  announced  the  im- 
mediate  reign  of  Christ  upon  earth,  returning  in  person  to  govern  his 
chosen  people.  It  w'as  even  asserted  that  he  had  already  appeared  in 
the  flesh,  in  the  person  of  a young  adventurer,  w^ho  had  caused  him- 
self to  be  worshipped  under  the  sacred  name  of  Jesus.  Then  sud- 
denly  he  passed  without  preparation  to  his  joy  at  seeing  before  him 
a parliament  freelj''  elected.  ” Yes,”  declared  he,  with  warm  satis- 
faction, “ I see  before  me  a free  parliament  1 Let  us  now  discuss 
a little  the  state  of  public  affairs.”  He  then  proceeded  to  detail 
the  progress  and  success  of  his  operations  in  Holland,  France,  Spain, 
and  Portugal  Finally,  he  dismissed  them  with  a paternal  air, 
declaring  that  he  should  pray  for  them,  and  enjoining  every  man  to 
return  quickly  to  his  own  abode,  and  reflect  on  the  excellent  manage- 
ment of  public  affairs,  which  he  was  going  to  submit  for  their  con- 
sideration. 

In  the  foilowing  speech  he  dwells  bitterly  on  the  heavj'  yoke 
which  the  public  saietj^  imposes  on  him,  so  contrary  to  his  own  de- 
sire. “ I declare  to  you,’  he  said,  ‘‘  in  the  candor  of  mj-  soul,  that  I 
love  not  the  post  in  which  I am  placed.  I have  said  this  already  in 
my  previous  interviews  with  jmu.  Yes,  I have  said  to  you  I have 
but  one  desire,  namely,  to  enjoy  the  .same  liberty^  with  others,  to  re- 
tire into  private  life,  to  be  relieved  from  my  charge.  I have  de- 
manded this  again  and  again  1 And  let  God  judge  between  me  and 
my  fellow-men  if  I have  uttered  falsehood  in  saying  so  I lilany  here 
can  attest  that  I lie  not  ! But  if  I speak  falsely  in  telling  you  what 
you  are  slow  to  believe,  if  I utter  a lie  or  act  the  hypocrite,  may 
heavenly  wrath  condemn  me  ! Let  men  without  charityq  who  judge 
of  others  by  themselves,  say  and  think  wliat  they  please,  1 repeat  to 
you  that  I utter  the  truth.  But  alas  ! I cannot  obtain  what  I so 
ardently  desire,  what  my  soul  yearns  to  accomplish  I Others  have 
decided  that  I could  not  abandon  my  post  without  a crime— I am, 
however,  unworthy  of  this  power  which  you  force  me  to  retain  in 
my  hands  ; I am  a miserable  sinner  !”  He  then  rambled  into  an  in- 
coherent digression  on  the  state  of  iiflfairs.  ‘‘  At  last,”  he  concluded, 

we  have  been  raised  up  for  the  welfare  of  this  nation  1 We  enjoy 
peace  at  home  and  peace  abroad  !” 

His  fourth  speech  comprises  a vehement  reproach  against  thi.s 
same  parliament,  wnich  he  said  had  suffered  itself  to  become  cor- 
rupted by  the  old  factions,  and  which  he  suddenly  dissolved,  after 
having  balanced  for  two  hours  between  caresses  and  maledictions, 
according  to  the  suggestions  of  the  spirit  which  soothed  and  the 
words  which  crushed. 

The  fifth,  delivered  before  the  new  parliament,  is  a rambling  jum- 
ble of  incoherency,  which  lasted  for  four  hours  ; at  this  distance  of 
time  it  is  totally  incomprehensible,  and  finishes  by  the  recitation  of 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


69 


a psalm.  “ I confess,”  says  Cromwell,  “ that  I have  been  diffuse  , 
I know  that  I have  tired  you  ; but  one  word  more  : Yesterday  I read 
a psalm,  which  it  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  introduce.  It  is  the 
sixty-sixth,  and  truly  a most  instructive  and  applicable  one  in  our 
particular  circumstances.  I call  upon  j'ou  to  peruse  it  at  leisure  —it 
commences  thus  : ‘ Lord,  thou  wert  merciful  to  man  ; thou  hast 
redeemed  us  from  the  captivity  of  Jacob  ; thou  hast  remitted  all  our 
sins.’  ” He  then  recited  the  entire  psalm  to  his  auditory,  and  elosing 
his  Bible,  added,  “ Verily,  I desire  tliat  this  psalm  may  be  engraved 
on  our  hearts  more  legibly  than  it  is  printed  in  this  book,  and  that  we 
may  all  cry  with  David,  ‘ It  is  thou.  Lord,  alone,  who  hast  done 
this  ! ’ Let  us  to  the  work,  my  friends,  with  courage  !”  continued 
he,  addressing  the  whole  house,  ” and  if  we  do  so  we  shall  joyfully 
sing  this  additional  psalm  : ‘ In  the  name  of  the  Lord,  our  enemies 
shall  be  confounded.  ’ No  ! we  shall  fear  neither  the  pope  nor  the 
Spaniards,  nor  the  devil  himself  ! No  ! we  shall  not  tremble,  even 
though  the  plains  should  be  lifted  above  the  mountains,  and  the 
mountains  should  be  precipitated  into  the  ocean  ! God  is  with 
us  ! — I have  finished  ! I have  finished  !”  he  exclaimed  at  last ; 
“ I have  said  all  that  I had  to  say  to  you.  Get  you  gone  together, 
and  in  peace  to  your  own  dwellings  !” 

These  speeches,  of  which  we  have  given  only  a few  textual  lines, 
lasted  for  hours  ; it  is  very  difficult  to  follow  their  meaning.  In  the 
same  voice  we  recognize  Tiberius,  Mahomet,  a soldier,  a tyrant,  a 
patriot,  a priest,  and  a madman.  We  perceive  the  laborious  inspira- 
tion of  a triple  soul,  which  seeks  its  own  idea  in  the  dark,  finds  it, 
loses  it,  finds  it  again,  and  keeps  its  auditors  floating  to  satiety,  l)e- 
tween  terror,  weariness,  and  compassion.  When  the  language  of 
tyranny  is  no  longer  brief,  like  the  stroke  of  its  will,  it  becomes  ridic- 
ulous. It  resembles  the  letters  from  Caprese  to  the  Roman  senate, 
01  the  appeals  of  Bonaparte  vanquished  to  the  French  legislative 
body  in  1813.  The  absolutism  which  seeks  to  make  itself  under 
stood,  or  to  enter  into  explanations  with  venal  senates  or  enslaved 
citizens,  becomes  embarrassed  in  its  own  sophisms,  mounts  into  the 
clouds  or  creeps  into  nothingness.  Silence  is  the  sole  eloquence  of 
tyranny,  because  it  admits  of  no  reply. 

Never  did  these  peculiar  characteristics  of  Cromwell’s  oratory  dis- 
play themselves  more  than  in  his  answers  to  the  parliament,  which 
thrice  offered  him  the  crown  in  1G58.  The  first  time  it  was  merel}' 
a deputation,  who  came  to  apprise  him,  in  his  own  private  apartment, 
of  the  intended  proposal.  The  answer  and  the  interview  are  equally 
familiar  to  us.  He  desires  not  the  title  of  king,  because  his  politi- 
cal inspiration  told  him  that  instead  of  increasing  his  actual  strength 
it  would  tend  to  destroy  it.  On  the  other  hand,  he  dared  not  reject 
the  offer  with  too  peremptory  a refusal,  because  his  generals,  more 
ambitious  than  himself,  would  insist  on  his  acceptance  of  the  throne, 
to  compromise  beyond  recall  his  greatness  and  that  of  his  family, 


70 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


with  their  own  fortunes.  He  dreaded  lest  in  discontent  for  his  de- 
nial, they  might  offer  the  sovereignty  to  some  other  leader  in  the 
army,  more  daring  and  less  scrupulous  than  himself.  His  embar- 
rassment may  he  construed  in  his  words.  It  took  him  eight  da}'s 
and  a thousand  circumlocutions  before  he  could  explain  himself. 

“ Gentlemen,”  replied  he,  on  the  first  day,  to  the  confidential  dep- 
utation of  the  parliament,  “ I have  passed  the  greater  part  of  my 
life  in  fire  (if  I may  sc  speak),  and  surrounded  by  commotions  ; but 
all  that  has  happened  to  me  since  I have  meddled  with  public  affairs 
for  the  general  good,  if  it  could  be  gathered  into  a single  heap  and 
placed  before  me  in  one  view,  would  fail  to  strike  me  with  the  terror 
and  respect  for  God’s  will  which  I undergo  at  the  thought  of  this 
thing  you  now  mention,  and  this  title  you  offer  me  ! But  I have 
drawn  confidence  and  tranquillity  in  every  crisis  of  my  past  life,  from 
the  conviction  that  the  heaviest  burdens  I have  borne  have  been  im- 
posed upon  me  by  Ilis  hand  without,  my  own  participation.  Often 
have  I felt  that  I should  have  given  way  under  these  weighty  loads 
if  it  had  not  entered  into  the  views,  the  plans,  and  the  great  bounty 
of  the  Lord  to  assist  me  in  sustaining  them.  If  then  I should  suffer 
myself  to  deliver  you  an  answer  on  this  matter,  so  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly brought  under  my  consideration,  without  feeling  that  this 
answer  is  suggested  to  mj'  heart  and  lips  by  Him  who  has  ever  been 
my  oracle  and  guide,  I should  therein  exhibit  to  you  a slender  evi- 
dence of  my  wisdom.  To  accept  or  refuse  your  offer  in  one  word, 
from  desires  or  feelings  of  personal  interest,  would  savor  too  much 
of  the  flesh  and  of  humau  appetite.  To  elevate  myself  to  this 
height  by  motives  of  ambition  or  vainglory  would  be  to  bring  down 
a curse  upon  myself,  upon  my  family,  and  upon  the  whole  empire. 
Better  would  it  be  that  I had  never  been  born.  Leave  me  then  to 
seek  counsel  at  my  leisure,  of  God  and  m}'  own  conscience  ; and  I 
hope  neither  the  declamations  of  a light  and  thoughtless  people,  noi 
the  selfish  wishes  of  those  who  expect  to  become  great  in  m\-  great 
ness,  may  influence  my  decision,  of  which  I shall  communicate  to  you 
the  result  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.” 

Three  hours  afterward,  the  parliamentary  committee  returned  tc 
press  for  his  answer.  It  was  m many  respects  confused  and  unin- 
telligible. We  can  fancy  that  we  behold  the  embarrassed  motion  of 
Caesar  when  he  pushed  aside  the  crown  offered  to  him  by  Antony 
and  the  soldiers,  in  the  circus.  There  was,  as  yet,  no  decision. 
After  four  days  of  urgent  and  repeated  entreaty  on  the  part  of  the 
parliament,  of  polite  but  significant  delays  on  that  of  the  protector, 
Cromwell  finally  explained  himself  in  a deluge  of  words  : 

” Royalty,”  said  he,  “ is  composed  of  two  matters,  the  title  of 
king  and  the  functions  of  monarch}^.  The.se  functions  are  so  united 
by  the  very  roots  to  an  old  form  of  legislation  that  all  our  laws 
would  fall  to  nothing  did  we  not  retain  in  their  appliance  a portion 
uf  the  kingly  power.  But  as  to  the  title  of  king,  this  distinction  im- 


OLIVER  CROMAVELL. 


plies  not  onlj*  a supreme  authority,  but,  I may  venture  to  say,  an  au- 
thority partaking  of  the  divine  ! I have  assumed  the  place  I now 
occupy  to  drive  away  the  dangers  which  threatened  my  country,  and 
to  prevent  tlieir  recurrence.  I shall  not  quibble  between  the  titles  of 
king  or  protector,  for  I am  prepared  to  continue  in  your  service,  as 
either  of  these,  or  even  as  a constable,  \f  you  so  will  it,  the 

lowest  officer  in  the  land.  For,  in  truth,  I have  often  said  to  myself 
that  1 am,  in  fact,  nothing  more  than  a constable,  maintaining  the 
‘ order  and  peace  of  the  parish  ! I am  therefore  of  opinion  that  it  is 
unnecessary  for  you  to  offer  or  for  me  to  accept  the  title  of  king, 
seeing  that  any  other  will  equally  answer  the  purpose  !” 

Then,  with  a frank  confession,  too  humble  not  to  be  sincere,  “ Al- 
low me,”  he  added,  “ to  lay  open  my  heart  here,  aloud,  and  in  your 
presence.  At  the  moment  when  I was  called  to  this  great  work, 
and  preferred  by  God  to  so  many  others  more  worthy  than  myself, 
what  was  I ? Nothing  more  than  a simple  captain  of  dragoons  in  a 
regiment  of  militia.  My  commanding  officer  was  a dear  friend 
who  possessed  a noble  nature,  and  whose  memory  I know  you  cherish 
as  warmly  as  I do  myself.  This  was  Mr.  Hampden.  The  first  time 
I found  myself  under  fire  with  him  I saw  that  our  troops,  newly 
levied,  without  discipline,  and  composed  of  men  who  loved  not  God, 
were  beaten  in  every  encounter.  With  the  permission  of  Mr.  Hamp- 
den I introduced  among  them  a new  spirit,  a spirit  of  zeal  atid 
piety  ; I taught  them  to  fear  God.  From  that  day  forward  they 
were  invariably  victorious.  To  him  be  all  the  glory  ! 

“It  has  ever  been  thus,  it  will  ever  continue  to  be  thus,  gentle- 
men, with  the  government.  Zeal  and  pietj’  will  preserve  us  without 
a king  ! Understand  me  well  ; I would  willingly  consent  to  become 
a victim  for  the  salvation  of  all  ; but  I do  not  think — no,  truly,  I do 
not  believe  that  it  is  necessary  this  victim  should  bear  the  title  of 
a king  !” 

Alas  ! he  had  unfortunately  thought  otherwise  in  the  case  of 
Charles  the  First.  The  blood  of  that  monarch  rose  up  too  late  and 
protested  against  his  words.  He  had  in  him  chosen  an  innocent  vic- 
tim, not  for  the  people,  but  for  the  army  ! 

Remorse  began  to  weigh  upon  him.  It  has  been  said  tliat  to  ap- 
pease or  encourage  these  sensations,  while  the  debates  in  parliament 
held  the  crown,  as  it  were,  suspended  over  his  head,  he  descended 
into  the  vaults  of  Whitehall,  where  the  body  of  the  decapitated 
Charles  the  First  had  been  temporaril}'^  placed.  Did  he  go  to  seek  in 
this  spectacle  an  oracle  to  solve  his  doubts,  or  a lesson  to  regulate  his 
ambition  ? Did  he  go  to  implore  from  the  dead  a pardon  for  the 
murder  he  had  permitted,  or  foi-giveness  for  the  throne  and  life  of 
which  he  had  deprived  him  ? We  cannot  say  ; all  that  is  certain  is 
that  he  raised  the  lid  of  the  coffin  which  inclosed  the  embalmed 
body  and  head  of  the  executed  monarch  ; that  he  caused  all  wit- 
nesses to  absent  themselves,  and  that  he  remained  for  a long  time 


73 


OLIVER  CROilTVELL. 


aloue,  silently  looking  on  the  deceased — an  interview  of  stoical  firm- 
ness if  not  of  repentance  ; a solemn  hour  of  reflection,  from  which 
he  must  have  returned  hardened  or  sliaken.  His  attendants  ob- 
served an  unwonted  paleness  on  his  features  and  a melancholj'  com- 
pression of  his  lips.  Painting  has  often  revived  this  strange  scene. 
Some  have  recognized  in  it  the  triumph  of  ambition  over  its  victim  ; 
we  should  prefer  to  recognize  the  agony  of  the  remorseful  mur- 
derer. 

His  private  correspondence  at  this  time  expresses  the  weariness  of 
aspirations  which  have  sounded  the  depths  of  hurtan  grandeur,  and 
which  see  nothing  but  emptiness  in  a destiny  so  apparentl3’  full. 
They  breathe  also  a softening  of  the  heart,  which  slackens  the  sever- 
ity of  government.  “ Truly,”  says  he,  in  a letter  to  Fleetwood,  his 
son-in-law,  and  deputy  in  Scotland,  ‘‘  trulj',  my  dear  Charles,  I have 
more  than  ever  need  of  the  help  and  prayers  of  my  Christian  friends. 

C£ach  party  wishes  me  to  adopt  their  own  views.  The  spirit  of  gen- 
tleness  which  I feeT^dthin  me  at  present  pleases  none  of  them.  I may 
say  with  sincerity,  my  life  has  been  a voluntary  sacrifice  for  the  ben- 
efit of  all.  Persuade  our  friends  who  are  with  you  to  become  very 
moderate.  If  the  Lord’s  day  approaches,  as  many  maintain,  oui 
moderation  ought  so  much  the  more  to  manifest  itself.  In  my  heav- 
iness, I am  ready  to  exclaim,  ‘ Why  have  I not  the  wings  of  a 
dove,  that  I might  flee  away  ? ’ But  I fear  me,  this  is  a most  culpa- 
ble impatience.  I bless  the  Lord  that  I possess  in  my  wife  and  chil- 
dren ties  which  attach  me  to  life  ! Pardon  me,  if  I have  discovered 
to  jmu  my  inmost  thoughts.  Give  my  love  to  your  dear  wife,  and 
my  blessing,  if  it  is  worth  anything,  to  jmur  infant  child.” 

In  the  midst  of  these  heaventy  aspirations,  he  was  anxious  to  leave 
independent  fortunes  to  his  sons  and  daughters.  The  large  income 
allotted  by  parliament  to  maintain  the  splendor  of  his  rank,  his  hered- 
itary estate,  and  the  austere  economy  of  his  habits,  had  enabled  him 
to  acquire  some  private  property.  The  list  of  his  possessions  is  con- 
tained in  his  letters  to  his  son  Richard.  They  comprise  twelve 
domains,  producing  an  annual  rent  of  about  300?.  ” Of  what  con.se- 

quence  is  this,”  he  said  sometimes  ; “ I leave  to  my  family  the  favor 
of  God,  who  has  elevated  me  from  nothing  to  the  height  on  which  I 
am  placed.”  It  would  seem  as  if  he  anticipated  his  approaching 
end. 

Tlio.se  who  came  in  contact  with  him  were  sensible  of  it  them- 
selves. The  Quaker  Fox,  one  of  the  founders  of  that  pious  and  phil- 
osophic sect,  who  comprise  all  theology  in  charity,  was  in  the  habit 
of  familiar  intercourse  with  Cromwell.  About  this  time  he  wrote  to 
one  of  his  friends  as  follow's  : ” Yesterday  I met  Cromwell  in  the 
park  of  Hampton  Court ; he  was  on  horseback,  attended  by  his 
guards.  Before  I approached  liim  I perceived  that  there  came  from 
him  an  odor  of  death.  When  wm  drew  near  to  each  other,  I noticed 
the  paleness  of  the  grave  upon  his  face.  He  stopped,  and  I spoce  to 


OLIVER  CROJIIVELL. 


73 


him  of  the  persecutions  of  the  J^'iends  (Quakers),  using  the  words 
which  the  Lord  suggested  to  my  lips.  He  replied,  ‘ Come  and  see 
me  to-morrow.  ’ On  the  following  day  I went  to  Hampton  Court, 
and  was  informed  that  he  was  ill.  From  that  day  I never  saw  him 
more.” 

Hampton  Court,  the  magnificent  feudal  residence  of  Henry  the 
Eighth,  was  an  abode  which  by  its  melancholy  and  monastic  gran- 
deur was  well  suited  to  the  temperament  of  Cromwell.  The  cha 
teau,  flanked  by  large  towers  resembling  the  bastions  of  a fortress, 
was  crowned  with  battlements,  blackened  incessantly  by  broods  of 
rooks.  It  stood  on  the  border  of  vast  forests,  luxurious  produce  of 
the  soil,  so  dear  to  the  Saxon  race.  The  aged  oaks  of  the  extensive 
park  appeared  to  assume  the  majesty  of  a royal  vegetation,  to  accord 
with  the  Gothic  architecture  of  the  castle.  Long  avenues,  veiled  in 
shadow  and  mist,  terminated  in  a perspective  of  green  meadow, 
silently  traversed  by  herds  of  tame  deer.  Narrow,  low  portals  with 
pointed  arches,  resembling  the  apertures  of  a cavern  in  the  solid 
ro(;k,  gave  admission  to  subterraneous  apartments,  guard-rooms  and 
vaulted  fencing-schools,  decorated  with  devices  of  ancient  armor, 
escutcheons,  and  knightly  banners.  Everything  breathed  that  mis- 
trustful superiority  which  creates  a void  round  monarchs,  either 
through  respect  or  terror.  Hampton  Court  was  the  favorite  resi- 
dence of  Cromwell,  but  at  the  period  of  which  we  are  writing  he 
was  detained  there  as  much  by  pain  as  relaxation. 

Providence,  as  often  happens  to  exalted  individuals,  had  deter- 
mined to  inflict  the  expiation  of  his  prosperous  fortunes,  through  the 
medium  of  his  own  family.  Several  daughters  had  embellished  his 
domestic  hearth.  The  eldest  was  married  to  Lord  Palcoubridge,  the 
second  to  Fleetwood,  the  third  to  Claypole,  while  the  fourth  and 
youngest  was  already,  at  seventeen,  the  widow  of  Lord  Rich,  grand- 
son of  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  an  old  companion-in-arms  of  the  protec- 
tor. The  grief  of  this  young  woman,  the  favorite  of  her  mother, 
saddened  the  internal  happiness  of  the  circle  at  Hampton  Court, 
Fleetwood,  a moody  republican,  ever  divided  between  the  ascen- 
dency of  Cromwell,  to  which  he  submitted  with  a pang  of  conscience, 
and  the  pure  democratical  opinions  which  saw  individual  tyranny  itj 
the  protectorate,  continually  reproached  his  father-in-law  with  hav- 
ing absorbed  the  republic  which  he  appeared  to  save.  Between  fanat- 
icism and  affection  he  had  drawn  over  his  young  wife  to  join  in  his 
discontented  murmurs.  Lady  Fleetwood,  like  the  second  Brutus,  ex- 
perienced at  the  same  time  an  invincible  attachment  and  repugnance 
to  her  father,  who  had  become  the  tyrant  of  his  country.  The  ties 
of  blood  and  the  spirit  of  sectarianism  divided  her  heart.  She  embit- 
tered the  life  of  the  protector  by  incessant  reproaches.  Cromwell, 
surrounded  by  the  cares  of  government,  was  at  the  same  time  beset 
by  the  invectives  of  his  republican  daughter  against  his  absolute 
measures,  and  trembled  to  discover  the  hand  of  Fleetwood  and  his 
A.B.— 16 


74 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


"wife  in  some  hostile  machinations.  The  deprecatory  tone  of  his  let- 
ters to  Lady  Fleetwood  describes  the  anguish  endured  by  this  father, 
compelled  to  justify  his  actions  to  his  own  family,  when  England  and 
all  Europe  trembled  at  his  nod.  But  this  child  of  Cromwell,  per 
petually  agitated  by  remorse  for  ruined  liberty,  never  remained  long 
silent  under  his  urgent  remonstrances.  It  was  necessary  to  convince 
her,  for  fear  of  being  compelled  to  punish.  She  was,  in  truth,  the 
Nemesis  of  her  father. 

His  daughter  Elizabeth,  Lady  Claypole,  became  his  consoling 
spirit.  This  young  and  amiable  female,  in  grace,  in  mind,  in  senti- 
ment, was  endowed  with  every  quality  which  justifies  the  prefer- 
ence, or,  we  should  rather  say,  the  admiration  by  which  Cromwell 
distinguished  her.  The  royalist  historian,  Hume,  who  can  scarcely 
be  suspected  of  flattery,  or  even  of  justice,  when  speaking  of  the 
family  of  the  murderer  of  his  king,  acknowledges  that  Lady  Claypole 
possessed  charms  and  virtue  sufflcient  to  excuse  the  admiration  of 
the  whole  world.  One  of  those  cruel  fatalities  which  resemble 
chance,  but  are  in  fact  ordained  chastisements  of  tyrann}",  had  re- 
cently pierced  the  heart  of  this  accomplished  woman  almost  to  death, 
and  excited  between  her  and  her  father  a tragical  family  dissension, 
in  which  nature,  torn  by  two  conflicting  feelings  (like  Camille,* 
divided  between  her  country  and  her  lover),  is  unable  to  renounce 
one  without  betraying  the  other.  Death  is  the  only  issue  of  such  an 
awful  predicament.  In  one  of  the  recent  royalist  conspiracies 
against  the  authority  of  the  protector,  a }'oung  Catalier  (the  name 
commonly  applied  to  the  partisans  of  Charles  the  Second)  had 
been  condemned  to  death.  Cromwell  had  the  power  of  mercy, 
which  he  would  have  exercised  if  the  guilt}'  prisoner,  for  whom 
he  was  aware  his  daughter  felt  the  w'armest  interest,  would  have 
afforded  him  the  least  pretext  for  clemency,  by  even  a qualified 
submission.  But  the  intrepid  Hewett  (such  was  the  name  of 
the  criminal)  had  defied  the  protector  on  his  trial,  as  he  had  braved 
the  danger  in  the  conspiracy.  Cromwell,  deaf  for  the  first  time 
to  the  supplications,  the  sobs,  and  despair  of  his  daughter  pros- 
trated at  his  feet,  imploring  the  life  of  a man  who  was  dear  to  her, 
ordered  the  execution  to  proceed.  Lady  Claypole  felt  herself  stricken 
mortally  by  the  same  blow'.  Cromwell  had  slain  his  daughter  through 
the  heart  of  one  of  his  enemies.  Elizabeth,  sinking  under  a deadly 
weakness,  returned  to  Hampton  Court  to  receive  the  lender  cares  ot 
her  mother  and  sisters,  and  only  roused  herself  from  her  stupor  to  re- 
proach her  father  with  the  blood  of  his  victim.  Her  lamentable  im- 
precations, interrupted  by  the  remorse  and  returning  tenderness  of 
her  father,  filled  the  palace  with  trouble,  mystery,  and  consternation. 
The  life  of  Lady  Claypole  rapidly  consumed  itself  in  these  sad  alter- 
nations of  tears  and  maledictions.  Cromwell  was  consumed  by  an- 


In  the  Ho;j^  ”,  ot  Corneille. — Tb. 


OLIVER  CEOITWELL. 


n 


f'Uisk,  fruitless  supplication,  and  unavailing  repentance.  He  felt  that 
his  cruelty  had  made  him  hated  by  the  being  whom  he  loved  most 
on  earth  ; and,  to  complete  his  agony,  he  himself  had  launched  the 
bolt  against  his  child.  Thus  the  republic  that  he  had  de- 
ceived on  the  one  hand  and  the  royalty  he  had  martyred  on  the 
other  seized  on  the  fanaticism  and  feelings  of  his  two  daughters,  to 
revenge  on  his  own  heart  and  under  his  domestic  roof  the  ambition 
and  inhumanity  with  which  he  had  trampled  on  both.  He  presented 
a modern  Atrides,  apparently  at  the  summit  of  prosperity,  but  in  fact 
an  object  of  compassion  to  his  most  implacable  enemies.  Lady  Clay- 
pole  died  in  his  arms  at  Hampton  Court,  toward  the  end  of  1658. 
With  her  last  words  she  forgave  her  father,  but  nature  refused  to 
ratify  the  pardon.  From  the  day  when  he  buried  his  beloved  daugh- 
ter he  languished  toward  his  end,  and  his  own  hours  were  num- 
bered. 

Although  he  was  robust  in  appearance,  and  his  green  maturity  of 
fifty-nine,  maintained  by  warlike  exercises,  sobriety,  and  chastity, 
had  enabled  him  to  preserve  the  activity  and  vigor  of  his  youth, 
disgust  of  life,  that  paralysis  of  the  soul,  inclosed  a decayed  heart  in 
a healthy  body.  He  seemed  no  longer  to  take  any  interest  in  the 
affairs  of  government  or  in  the  divisions  of  his  own  family.  HiS 
confidential  friends  endeavored  to  direct  his  thoughts  from  the  grave 
of  his  daughter,  by  inducing  him  to  change  the  scene  and  vary  his 
occupations  so  as  to  dissipate  the  depressing  moral  atmosphere  which 
surrounded  him.  His  secretary,  Thurloe,  and  others  of  his  most 
trusted  adherents,  in  concert  with  his  wife,  contrived,  without  his 
knowledge,  reviews,  hunting-parties,  races,  and  avocations  of  duty 
or  amusement  to  distract  or  occupy  his  attention.  They  took  him 
back  to  London,  but  he  found  the  city  even  more  distasteful  than  the 
country.  They  thought  to  reanimate  his  languor  by  repasts  in  the 
open  air,  brought  by  his  servants  from  the  liouse,  and  prepared  on 
the  grass  under  the  shadow  of  the  finest  trees,  and  in  his  favorite 
spots.  His  earliest  taste,  the  love  of  rural  nature  and  of  the  animals 
of  the  field,  was  the  last  that  remained  in  his  closing  hours.  The 
gentleman  farmer  and  trainer  of  cattle  again  broke  forth  under  the 
master  of  an  empire.  The  Bible  and  the  patriarchal  life,  to  which  he 
constantly  alluded,  associated  themselves  in  his  mind  with  the  re- 
membrances of  rural  occupations,  which  he  regretted  even  in  the 
splendors  of  a palace  : he  often  exclaimed,  as  Danton  did  long  after- 
ward, “ Happy  is  he  who  lives  under  a thatched  roof  and  cultivates 
his  own  field  !” 

One  morning,  when  Thurloe  and  the  attendants  of  Cromwell  had 
spread  his  me^  on  the  ground,  under  the  shadow  of  a clump  of  mag- 
nificent oaks,  more  distant  from  the  neighboring  city  and  thicker 
than  at  present,  he  felt  his  spirits  lighter  and  more  serene  than  usual, 
and  expressed  a wish  to  pass  the  remainder  of  the  day  in-that  delight- 
ful solitude.  He  ordered  his  grooms  to  bring  out  six  fine  bay  horses. 


76 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


which  the  States  of  Holland  had  lately  sent  him  as  a present,  to  try 
them  in  harness  in  one  of  the  avenues  of  the  park.  Two  postilions 
mounted  the  leaders.  Cromwell  desired  Thurloe  to  seat  himself  in 
the  carriage,  while  he  ascended  the  box  and  took  the  reins  in  his 
own  hands.  The  fiery  and  unbroken  animals  began  to  rear,  threw 
their  riders,  and  ran  away  with  the  light  vehicle,  which  they  dashed 
against  a tree,  and  Cromwell  was  violently  precipitated  to  the  ground. 
Tn  his  fall  a loaded  pistol  went  off,  which  he  always  carried  concealed 
under  his  clothes.  For  a moment  he  was  dragged  along  on  the 
gravel,  entangled  with  the  broken  carriage.  Although  he  escaped 
without  a wound,  his  fail,  the  explosion  of  the  pistol,  revealing  to 
those  about  him  his  precautionary  terrors,  the  sarcastic  remarks  to 
which  this  mishap  gave  rise,  all  appeared  to  him  ominous  of  evil,  and 
caused  a sudden  shock  which  he  concealed  with  difficulty’.  He 
affected,  nctwithstanding,  to  laugh  at  the  accident,  and  said  to  Thur- 
loe, “ It  is  easier  to  conduct  a government  than  to  drive  a team  of 
horses  !” 

He  returned  to  Hampton  Court,  and  the  constant  image  of  his 
cherished  daughter  appeared  to  people  those  halls,  which  her  presence 
no  longer  animated,  with  remembrances  less  painful  than  oblivion. 
He  was  prayed  for  throughout  the  three  kingdoms  : by  the  puritans, 
for  their  prophet ; by  the  republicans,  for  their  champion  ; by  the 
patriots,  for  the  bulwark  of  their  country.  The  antechambers 
resounded  with  the  murmured  applications  of  preachers,  chaplains, 
fanatics,  personal  friends,  and  members  of  his  own  family — all  be- 
seeching God  to  spare  the  life  of  their  saint.  VTliitehall  resembled 
more  a sanctuary  than  a palace.  The  same  spirit  of  mystical  inspira- 
tion which  had  conducted  him  there  governed  him  in  the  last  moments 
of  his  residence.  He  discoursed  only’  of  religion,  and  never  alluded 
to  politics,  so  much  more  was  he  occupied  by  the  thoughts  of  eternal 
salvation  than  of  prolonging  his  earthly  power. 

He  had  designated  his  son  Eichard  as  his  successor  (in  a sealed 
paper  which  had  since  gone  astray),  on  the  same  day’  when  he  had 
been  named  protector.  Those  who  now  surrounded  him  wished  him 
to  renew  this  act,  but  he  appeared  either  indifferent  or  unwilling  to 
ilo  so.  At  last,  when  he  was  asked,  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  if  it 
was  not  his  will  that  his  son  Eichard  should  succeed  him,  “Yes,” 
he  muttered,  with  a single  affirmative  motion  of  his  head,  and  imme- 
diately changed  the  subject  of  conversation.  It  was  evident  that 
this  man,  impressed  with  the  vicissitudes  of  government  and  the 
fickleness  of  the  people,  attached  but  little  importance  to  the  will  of 
a dictator,  and  left  in  the  bands  of  Providence  the  fate  of  his  author- 
ity after  his  death.  “ God  will  govern  by  the  instrument  that  he 
may  please  to  select,”  said  he  ; “ it  is  he  alone  who  has  given  me 
power  over  his  pebple.  ” He  believed  that  he  had  left  this  document 
at  Hampton  Court,  where  messengers  were  dispatched  to  seek  it  Imi 
vvithout  success,  and  the  topic  was  never  again  adverted  to 


OLIVEll  CROMWELL. 


77 


Richard,  who  resided  usually  in  the  country,  in  the  paternal  man- 
sion of  his  wife,  hastened  to  London,  with  his  sisters  and  brothers-in- 
law,  to  attend  the  death-bed  of  the  chief  of  the  family.  He  seemed 
as  indilferent  as  his  father  as  to  the  hereditary  succession  of  his 
office,  for  which  he  had  ireither  the  desire  nor  the  ambition.  The 
whole  generation,  left  by  the  protector  in  the  mediocrity  of  private 
life,  appeared  ready  to  return  to  it,  as  actors  quit  the  stage  when  the 
drama  is  over.  They  had  neither  acquired  hatred  nor  envy  by  inso- 
lence or  pride.  Like  the  children  of  Sylla,  who  mixed  unnoticed 
with  the  crowd,  the  tender  affection  of  his  united  family  and  their 
unfeigned  tears  constituted  the  only  funeral  pomp  which  waited 
round  the  couch  of  the  protector. 

A slow  intermittent  fever  seized  him.  He  strnggled  with  the  first 
attack  so  successfully  that  no  one  about  him  suspected  he  was  seri- 
ously ill.  The  fever  became  tertian  and  more  acute  ; his  strength 
was  rapidly  giving  way.  The  physicians  summoned  from  London 
attributed  the  disease  to  the  bad  air  engendered  by  the  marshy  and 
ill-drained  bunks  of  the  Thames,  which  joined  the  gardens  of  Hamp- 
ton Court.  He  was  brought  back  to  Whitehall,  as  if  Providence  had 
decreed  that  he  should  die  before  the  same  window  of  the  same 
palace,  in  front  of  which  he  had  ordered  to  be  constructed,  ten  years 
before,  the  scaffold  of  his  royal  victim. 

Cromwell  never  rose  again  from  the  bed  on  which  he  was  placed 
when  he  returned  to  London.  His  acts  and  words,  during  his  long 
agony,  have  been  wildly  misrepresented,  according  to  the  feelings  of 
the  different  parties  who  sought  revenge  for  his  life  or  who  gloried 
in  his  death,  A new  document,  equally  authentic  and  invaluable, 
notes  taken  without  his  knowledge,  calculating  every  hour  and  eveiy 
sigh,  and  preserved  by  the  comptroller  of  his  household,  who 
watched  him  day  and  night,  have  verified  beyond  dispute  his 
thoughts  and  expressions.  The  sentiments  expressed  in  these  last 
moments  speak  the  true  secrets  of  the  soul.  Death  unmasks  every 
face,  and  hypocrisy  disappears  before  the  raised  finger  of  God. 

During  the  periods  between  the  paroxysms  of  the  fever,  he  occu- 
pied the  time  with  listening  to  passages  from  the  sacred  volume,  or 
l)y  a resigned  or  despairing  reference  to  the  death  of  his  daughter. 
“ Read  to  me,’’  he  said  to  his  wife  in  one  of  those  intervals,  “ the 
Epistle  of  St.  Paul  to  the  Philippians.  ” She  read  these  words  ; “ 1 
know  both  how  to  be  abased,  and  I krow  how  to  abound  : every- 
where and  in  all  things  I am  instructed  both  to  be  full  and  to  be 
hungry,  both  to  abound  and  to  suffer  need.  I can  do  all  things 
througli  Christ,  which  strengtheneth  me.”  The  reader  paused 
“ That  verse,”  said  Cromwell,  ” once  saved  my  life  when  the  death 
of  my  eldest  born,  the  infant  Oliver,  pierced  my  heart  like  the  sharp 
blade  of  a poniard.  Ah  ! St.  Paul,”  he  continued,  “ you  are  entitled 
to  speak  thus,  for  you  answered  to  the  call  of  grace  ! But  I — ” he 
broke  off,  but  after  a short  silence,  resumiog  a tone  of  confidence. 


78 


OLIVER  CR03nVELL. 


continued,  “ but  he  who  was  the  Saviour  of  Paul,  is  he  not  also 
mine  ?” 

“ Do  not  weep  thus,”  said  he  to  his  wife  and  children,  who  were 
sobbing  loudly  in  the  chamber  ; ‘‘  love  not  this  vain  world  ; I tell 
you  from  the  brink  of  the  grave,  love  not  the  things  of  earth  1” 
There  was  a moment  of  weakness  when  lie  seemed  anxious  for  life. 

Is  there  no  one  here,”  he  demanded,  “ who  can  deliver  me  from 
this  danger?”  All  hesitated  to  answer.  ” Man  is  helpless,”  he  con- 
tinued, “ God  can  do  whatever  he  pleases.  Are  there  none,  then, 
who  will  pray  with  me  ?” 

The  silent  motion  of  his  lips  was  interrupted  from  time  to  time  by 
indistinct  and  mystical  murmurings  which  indicated  inward  suppli- 
cation. ‘‘  Lord,  thou  art  my  witness,  that  if  I still  desire  to  live  it 
is  to  glorify  thy  name  and  to  complete  thy  work  !”  ” It  is  terrible, 
yea,  it  is  very  terrible,”  he  muttered  three  times  in  succession,  “ to 
fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God  !”  “ Do  you  think.”  said  he  to 
his  chaplain,  ” that  a man  who  has  once  been  in  a state  of  grace  can 
ever  perish  eternally?”  “No,”  replied  the  chaplain,  " there  is  no 
possibility  of  such  a relapse.”  “Then  I am  safe,”  replied  Crom- 
well ; “ for  at  one  time  I am  confident  that  I was  chosen.”  All  his 
inquiries  tended  toward  futurity,  none  bore  reference  to  the  present 
life.  “ I am  the  most  insignificant  of  mortals,”  continued  he  after  a 
momentary  pause  ; ‘ ‘ but  I have  loved  God,  praised  be  his  name,  or 
rather  I am  beloved  by  him  !” 

There  was  a moment  when  the  dangerous  S3'mptoms  of  his  malady 
were  supposed  to  have  subsided  ; he  even  adopted  this  notion  him- 
self. Whitehall  and  the  churches  resounded  with  thanksgivings. 
The  respite  was  short,  for  the  fever  speedil}’  redoubled.  Several 
days  and  nights  were  passed  in  cahn  exhaustion  or  incoherent  de- 
lirium. On  the  morning  of  the  30th  of  August,  one  of  his  officers, 
looking  fi’om  the  window,  recognized  the  republican  Ludlow,  ban- 
ished from  Loudon,  who  happened  to  be  crossing  the  square.  Crom- 
well, informed  of  his  presence,  became  anxious  to  know  what  motive 
could  have  induced  Ludlow'  to  have  the  audaciD’  to  show  himself  in 
the  capital,  and  to  pass  under  the  very  windows  of  his  palace.  He 
sent  his  son  Richard  to  him,  to  endeavor  if  possible  to  fathom  the 
secret  views  of  his  partj'.  Ludlow  assured  Richard  Cromwell  that 
he  came  exclusivel}'  on  private  affairs,  and  was  ignorant  when  he 
arrived  of  the  illness  of  the  protector.  He  promised  to  depart  from 
the  capital  on  that  same  daj'.  This  is  the  Ludlow  who,  being  pro- 
scribed among  the  regicides  after  the  death  of  Cromw  ell.  retired  to 
grow  old  and  die  impenitentli'  at  Yevaj',  on  the  borders  of  Lake 
Leman,  where  his  tomb  is  still  exhibited. 

Cromw'ell,  satisfied  as  to  the  intentions  of  the  republicans,  thought 
no  longer  but  of  making  a religious  end.  The  intendant  of  his 
chamber,  who  watched  by  him,  beard  him  offer  up  his  last  prayers  in 
detached  sentences,  and  in  an  audible  tone.  For  his  own  satisfaction 


OLIVER  CROMWELL.  79 

ne  noted  down  the  words  as  they  escaped  from  the  hps  of  the  dying 
potentate,  and  long  afterward  transmitted  them  to  history. 

“ Lord,  I am  a miserable  creature  ! But  by  thy  grace  I am  in  the 
truth,  and  I hope  to  appear  before  thee  in  behalf  of  this  people. 
Thou  hast  selected  me,  although  unworthy,  to  he  the  instrument  of 
good  here  below,  and  to  have  rendered  service  to  my  brethren.  Many 
of  them  have  thought  too  favorably  of  my  strength,  while  many 
others  will  rejoice  that  I am  cut  off.  Continue,  O Lord,  to  give  thy 
help  to  all ; endow  them  with  constancy  and  a right  understanding  ; 
render  through  them  the  name  of  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ  more  and 
more  honored  upon  earth  ; teach  them  who  trust  too  much  to  thy 
instrument  to  rely  on  thee  alone.  Pardon  those  who  are  impatient 
to  trample  under  their  feet  this  worm  of  earth,  and  grant  me  a night 
of  peace,  if  it  be  thy  good  pleasure.” 

On  the  following  day,  the  anniversary  of  the  battles  of  Dunbar  and 
Worcester,  his  two  greatest  victories,  the  sound  of  the  military  music 
by  which  they  were  celebrated  penetrated  to  his  dying  chamber. 
"I  could  wish,”  he  exclaimed,  “to  recall  my  life,  to  repeat  once 
more  those  services  for  the  nation  ; but  my  day  is  over.  May  God 
continue  ever  present  with  his  children.” 

After  a last  restless  night,  he  was  asked  if  he  wished  to  drink  or 
sleep.  “ Neither,”  he  replied,  “ but  to  pass  quickly  to  my  Father.” 
B}'  sunrise  his  voice  failed,  hut  he  was  still  observed  to  pray  in  an 
inarticulate  tone. 

The  equinoctial  gale,  which  had  commenced  on  the  preceding  day, 
now  swelled  into  a storm  which  swept  over  England  with  the  effect 
of  an  earthquake.  The  carriages  which  conveyed  to  Loudon  the 
friends  of  the  protector,  apprised  of  his  extreme  danger,  were  unable 
to  stem  the  violence  of  the  wind  and  took  refuge  in  the  inns  on  the 
road.  The  lofty  houses  of  London  undulated  like  vessels  tossed 
upon  the  ocean.  Roofs  were  carried  off,  trees  that  had  stood  for 
centuries  in  Hyde  Park  were  torn  up  by  the  roots  and  prostrated  on 
the  ground  like  bundles  of  straw.  Cromw'cll  expired  at  two  o’clock 
in  the  afternoon,  in  the  midst  of  this  convulsion  of  nature.  He  de- 
parted as  he  was  born,  in  a tempest.  Popular  superstition  recog- 
nized a miracle  in  this  coincidence,  which  seemed  like  the  expiring 
efforts  of  the  elements  to  tear  from  life  and  empire  the  single  man 
who  was  capable  of  enduring  the  might  of  England’s  destiny,  and 
whose  decease  created  a void  which  none  but  himself  could  fill. 
Obedience  had  become  so  habitual  and  fear  so  universally  survived 
his  power  that  no  opposing  faction  dared  to  raise  its  head  in  presence 
of  his  remains  ; his  enemies,  like  those  of  Caesar,  were  compelled  to 
simulate  mourning  at  his  funeral.  Several  months  elapsed  before 
England  felt  thoroughly  convinced  that  her  master  no  longer  existed, 
and  ventured  to  exhibit  a few  faint  throbs  of  liberty  after  such  a 
memorable  servitude.  If  at  that  time  there  had  been  found  an 
Antony  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  the  army  in  London,  and  if  a 


80 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


new  Octavius  had  appeared  in  Richard  Cromwell,  the  Lower  Empire 
might  have  commenced  in  the  British  Islands.  But  Richard  abdi- 
cated after  a very  short  exercise  of  power.  He  had  formerl}^  with 
tears,  embraced  his  father’s  knees,  imploring  him  to  spare  the  head 
of  Charles  the  First.  His  resignation  cost  him  nothing,  for  he  had 
examined  too  closely  the  price  of  supreme  power.  He  became  once 
more  a simple  and  unostentatious  citizen,  enjojing,  in  the  tranquillity 
of  a country  life,  his  obscurity  and  his  innocence. 

We  have  sought  to  describe  the  true  character  of  Cromwell,  rescued 
from  romance  and  restored  to  history.  This  supposed  actor  of  sixty 
becomes  a veritable  man.  Formerly  he  was  misapprehended,  now  he 
is  correctly  understood. 

A great  man  is  ever  the  personification  of  the  spirit  which  breathes 
from  time  to  tixne  upon  his  age  and  country.  The  inspiration  of 
Scripture  predominated,  in  1600,  over  the  three  kingdoms.  Crom- 
well, more  imbued  than  any  other  with  this  sentiment,  was  neither  a 
politician  nor  an  ambitious  conqueror,  nor  an  Octavius,  nor  a 
Caesar.  He  was  a Judge  of  the  Old  Testament  ; a sectarian  of  the 
greater  power  in  proportion  as  he  was  more  superstitious,  more  strict 
and  narrow  in  his  doctrines,  and  more  fanatical.  If  his  genius  had 
surpassed  his  epoch  he  would  have  exercised  less  influence  over  the 
existing  generation.  Ilis  nature  was  less  elevated  than  the  part 
assigned  to  him  ; his  religious  bias  constituted  the  half  of  his  fortune. 
A true  military  Calvin,  holding  the  Bible  in  one  hand  and  the 
sword  in  the  other,  he  aimed  rather  at  salvation  than  temporal  em- 
pire. Historians,  hitherto  ill-informed,  have  mistaken  the  principle 
of  his  ambition.  It  was  the  feature  of  the  times.  All  the  factions  of 
that  age  were  religious,  as  all  those  of  the  present  day  are  political. 
In  Switzerland,  in  Germany,  in  the  North,  in  France,  in  Scotland,  in 
Ireland,  in  England,  all  parties  borrowed  their  convictions,'  their 
divided  opinions,  their  opposing  fierceness  from  the  Bible,  which  had 
become  the  universal  oracle.  Interpreted  differently  by  the  different 
sects,  this  oracle  imparted  to  each  exposition  the  bitterness  of  a 
schism,  to  each  destiny  the  holiness  of  a revelation,  to  each  leader  the 
authority  of  a prophet,  to  each  victim  the  heroism  of  a martyr,  and 
to  each  conqueror  the  ferocity  of  an  e.xecutioner  offering  up  a sacri- 
fice to  the  Deity.  A paroxysm  of  mystical  frenzy  had  seized  upon 
tlie  whole  Christian  world,  and  the  most  impassioned  trampled  upon 
the  rest.  Danton  has  said  that  in  a revolution  the  greatest  scoundrel 
must  gain  the  victory.  With  equal  justice  it  may  be  observed  that 
in  religious  wars  the  most  superstitious  leader  will  win  the  day. 
When  that  leader  is  at  the  same  time  a soldier,  and  inspires  his 
followers  with  his  own  enthusiasm,  there  is  no  longer  a limit  to  his 
career  of  fortune.  He  subjects  the  people  by  the  army,  and  the  army 
by  the  superstitions  of  the  people.  If  endowed  with  genius,  he  be- 
comes a Mahomet ; a Cromwell,  if  gifted  only  with  policy  .md 
fanaticism. 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


81 


It  becomes,  therefore,  impossible  to  deny  that  Cromwell  was  sin- 
cere. Sincerity  was  the  inciting  motive  of  his  elevation,  and,  without 
excusing,  completely  explains  his  crimes.  This  quality,  which  con- 
stituted his  virtue,  impressed  on  his  actions,  faith,  devotedness,  en- 
thusiasm,  consistency,  patriotism,  toleration,  austerity  of  manners, 
application  to  war  and  business,  coolness,  modesty,  piety,  denial  of 
personal  ambition  for  his  family,  and  all  those  patriarchal  and 
romantic  features  of  the  lirst  republic  which  characterized  his  life 
and  the  period  of  his  reign.  It  also  imparted  to  his  nature  the  im- 
placability of  a religionist  who  believed  that  in  striking  his  own  ene- 
mies he  was  smiting  the  enemies  of  God.  The  massacres  of  the  van- 
quished rebels  in  Ireland  and  the  cold-blooded  murder  of  Charles  the 
First  exhibit  the  contrasted  extravagance  of  this  false  conscience.  In 
Cromwell  it  was  untempered  by  the  natural  clemency  which  palliates 
in  the  first  Ctesar  the  barbarities  of  ambition.  We  recognize  the  vm 
victis  of  the  sectarian,  the  demagogue,  and  the  soldier  united  in  the 
same  individual. 

Thus,  as  it  always  happens,  these  two  leading  crimes,  perpetuated 
without  pity,  rebounded  back  upon  his  cause  and  his  memory.  What 
did  Cromwell  desire  ? Assuredlj^  not  the  throne,  for  we  have  seen 
that  it  was  frequently  within  his  grasp,  and  he  rejected  it  that  Provi- 
dence alone  might  reign.  He  wished  to  secure  for  his  own  party,  the 
Independents,  full  religious  liberty  in  matters  of  faith,  guaranteed  by 
a powerful  representation  of  the  people  and  the  parliament,  and  ]jre- 
sided  over  by  a monarchical  form  of  government  at  the  head  of  this 
republic  of  saints.  This  is  the  direct  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from 
his  entire  life,  his  actions,  and  his  words. 

Now,  in  sparing  the  life  of  the  vanquished  sovereign,  and  in  con- 
cluding, either  with  him  or  his  sons,  a national  compact,  a new 
Magna  Charta,  establishing  religious  and  representative  freedom 
throughout  England,  Cromwell  would  have  left  a head  to  the  repub- 
lic, a king  to  the  royalists,  an  all-powerful  parliament  to  the  people, 
and  a victorious  independence  to  the  conscience  of  the  nation.  By 
putting  Charles  to  death  and  Ireland  to  the  sword  he  furnished  a 
never-dying  grievance  to  the  supporters  of  the  throne,  martyrs  to  the 
persecuted  faiths,  with  a long  and  certain  reaction  to  absolute  power, 
the  established  Protestantism  of  the  State,  and  the  followers  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church.  He  prepared  the  inevitable  return  of  tlie 
last  Stuarts,  for  dynasties  are  never  extinguished  in  blood  ; they 
exphe  rather  by  absence.  His  severity,  sooner  or  later,  recoiled 
upon  his  cause  and  tarnished  his  memory.  This  biblical  Marius  can 
never  be  absolved  from  his  proscriptions.  After  mucli  slaughter, 
that  he  governed  well  and  wisely  cannot  be  disputed.  He  laid  the 
foundations  of  the  great  power  of  England,  both  by  land  and  sea. 
But  nations,  who  are  often  ungrateful  for  the  virtue  sacrificed  in 
their  cause,  are  doubly  so  for  the  crimes  committed  to  promote 
their  grandeur.  Whatever  the  disciples  of  Machiavelli,  and  the  con- 


82 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


vention  may  say  to  the  contrary,  there  are  such  things  as  national  re- 
pentance and  remorse,  which  perpetuate  themselves  with  national 
history.  Cromwell  deeply  wounded  the  conscience  and  humanity 
of  England  by  his  systematic  cruellies.  The  stains  of  the  royal  and 
plebeian  blood,  which  he  shed  without  compunction,  have  indelibly 
imprinted  themselves  on  his  name.  Be  has  left  a lofty  but  an  un- 
popular memory.  His  glory  belongs  to  England,  but  England  in- 
clines to  suppress  it.  Her  historians,  her  orators,  her  patriots  sel- 
dom refer  to  his  name,  and  evince  no  desire  to  have  it  paraded  before 
I hem.  They  blush  to  be  so  deeply  indebted  to  such  a man.  British 
patriotism,  which  cannot  historically  ignore  the  reality  of  his  services, 
profits  by  the  basis  of  national  power  which  Cromwell  has  estao- 
lislied  in  Europe,  but  at  the  same  time  denies  his  personal  claim#  ; it 
acknowledges  the  work  but  repudiates  the  workman.  The  name 
of  Cromwell,  in  the  acceptation  of  the  English  people,  resembles  one 
of  those  massive  druidical  altars  upon  which  their  barbiu'ous  ances- 
tors offered  up  sacrifices  to  their  gods  ; and  which,  while  they  have 
been  thrown  in  to  assist  in  the  foundations  of  later  edifices,  can 
never  be  disinterred  or  restored  to  light  without  disclosing  the 
traces  of  the  blood  so  profusely  scattered  by  savage  superstition. 

THE  END. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT» 


The  Prussian  raonarcliy,  tlie  youngest  of  the  great  European 
States,  hut  in  population  and  in  revenue  the  fifth  amongst  them,  and 
In  art,  science,  and  civilization  entitled  to  the  third,  if  not  the  second 
place,  sprang  from  an  humble  origin.  About  the  beginning  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  the  marquisate  of  Brandenburg  was  bestowed  by 
the  Emperor  Sigismund  on  the  noble  family  of  Hohenzollern.  In  the 
sixteenth  century  that  family  embraced  the  Lutheran  doctrines. 
Early  in  the  seventeenth  century  it  obtained  from  the  King  of  Pobu.l 
the  investiture  of  the  duchy  of  Prussia.  Even  after  this  accession  of 
territory,  the  chiefs  of  the  house  of  Hohenzollern  hardly  ranked  with 
the  Electors  of  Saxony  and  Bavaria.  The  soil  of  Brandenburg  was, 
for  the  most  part,  sterile.  Even  around  Berlin,  the  capital  of  the 
province,  and  around  Potsdam,  the  favorite  residence  of  the  Mar- 
graves, the  country  was  a desert.  In  some  tracts  the  deep  sand  could 
with  difficulty  be  forced  by  assiduous  tillage  to  yield  thin  crops  of 
rye  and  oats.  In  other  places,  the  ancient  forests,  from  which  the 
conquerors  of  the  Roman  empire  had  descended  on  the  Danube,  re- 
mained untouched  by  the  hand  of  man.  Where  the  soil  was  rich  it 
was  generally  mar.shy,  an;I  its  insalubrity  repelled  the  cultivators 
whom  its  fertility  attracted.  Frederick  William,  called  the  Great 
Elector,  was  the  prince  to  whose  policy  his  successors  have  agreed  to 
ascribe  their  greatness.  He  acquired  by  the  peace  of  Westphalia  sev- 
er d valuable  possessions,  and  among  them  the  rich  city  and  district 
of  Magdeburg  ; and  he  left  to  his  son  Frederick  a principality  as  con- 
siderable as  any  winch  was  not  called  a kingdom. 

Frederick  aspired  to  the  style  of  royalty.  Ostentatious  and  pro- 
fuse, negligent  of  his  true  interests  and  of  his  high  duties,  insatiably 
eager  for  frivolous  distinctions,  he  added  nothing  to  the  real  weight 
of  the  State  which  he  governed  ; but  he  gained  the  great  object  of 
his  life,  the  title  of  king.  In  the  year  ITOO  he  assumed  this  new  dig- 
nity. lie  had  on  that  occasion  to  undergo  all  the  mortifications  which 
fall  to  the  lot  of  ambitious  upstarts.  Compared  with  the  other 
crowned  heads  of  Europe,  he  made  a figure  resembling  that  which  a 
Nabob  or  a Commissary,  who  had  bought  a title,  would  make  in  the 
company  of  Peers  whose  ancestors  had  been  attainted  for  treason 
against  the  Plantajrenets. 


(11 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


% 


* 


The  envy  of  the  class  which  he  quitted,  and  the  civil  scom  of  the 
chiss  into  which  he  intruded  himself,  were  marked  in  very  significant 
ways.  The  elector  of  Saxony  at  first  refused  to  acknowle  Ige  the  new 
majesty.  Louis  the  Fourteenth  looked  down  on  his  brother  king  with 
an  air  not  unlike  that  with  which  the  count  in  Moliere’s  plaj'  regards 
Monsieur  Jourdain,  just  fresh  from  the  mummery  of  being  made  a 
gentleman.  Austria  exacted  large  sacrifice  in  return  for  her  recogni 
tion,  and  at  last  gave  it  ungraciously. 

Frederick  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  Frederick  William,  a prince 
who  must  be  allowed  to  have  possessed  some  talents  for  administration, 
but  whose  character  was  disfigured  by  the  most  odious  vices,  and 
whose  eccentricities  were  such  as  had  never  been  seen  out  of  a mad- 
liouse.  He  was  exact  and  diligent  in  the  transaction  of  business,  and 
lie  was  the  first  who  formed  the  design  of  obtaining  for  Prussia  a 
place  among  the  Euroj)ean  powers,  altogether  out  of  proportion  to  her 
. xtent  and  population,  by  means  of  a strong  military  organization. 
Strict  economy  enabled  him  to  keep  up  a peace  establishment  of  sixty 
thousand  troops.  These  troops  were  disciplined  in  such  a manner, 
that,  placed  beside  them,  the  household  regiments  of  Versailles  and 
St.  James  would  have  appeared  an  awkward  squad.  The  master  of 
such  a force  could  not  but  be  regar<K-d  by  all  his  neighbors  as  a for 
midable  enemy  and  a valuable  ally. 

But  the  mind  of  Frederick  William  was  so  ill-regulated  that  all  his 
inclinations  became  passions,  and  all  his  passions  partook  of  the  char- 
acter of  moral  and  intellectual  disease.  His  parsimony  degenerated 
into  sordid  avarice.  His  taste  for  militaiy  ])omp  and  order  became  a 
mania,  like  that  of  a Dutch  burgomaster  for  tulip.-;.  \Miile  the  en- 
voys of  the  court  of  Berlin  wer  ■ in  a state  of  such  sipialid  poverty  as 
moved  the  laughter  of  foreign  capitals — while  the  I'ood  of  the  royal 
family  was  so  bad  that  even  hunger  loathed  it — no  price  was  thought 
too  extravagant  for  tall  recruits.  The  ambition  of  the  king  was  to 
form  a brigade  of  giants,  and  every  country  was  ransacked  by  his 
agents  for  men  above  the  ordinary  stature.  These  researches  were 
not  confined  to  Europe.  Xo  head  that  towered  above  the  crowd  in 
the  bazaars  of  Aleppo,  of  Cairo,  or  of  Surat,  could  escape  the  c»-imps 
of  Frederick  William.  ^ One  Irishman  more  than  seven  feet  high,  who 
was  picked  uj)  in  London  hy  he  Prussian  ambassador,  received  a 
liounty  of  nearly  £1,300  sterling — very  much  more  than  the  amb.'us- 
sador’s  salary. ) This  extravagance  was  the  more  absurd  because  a 
stout  youth  of'five  feet  eight,  who  might  have  been  procured  for  a 
few  dollars,  would  in  all  probability  have  been  a much  more  valuable 
soldier.  But  to  Frederick  William  this  huge  Irishman  was  what  a 
brass  Otho  or  a Vinegar  Bible  is  to  a collector  of  a different  kiud.'^ 


* Carlj’le  thus  doscribe.s  the  Potsdam  Regiment ; — “ A Potsdam  Giant  Regiment, 
such  as  the  world  never  saw  before  or  since.  'Phree  Battalions  of  them— two  al- 
ways here  at  Potsdam  doing  formal  life-,guard  duty,  the  third  at  Brandenhurg  on 
•Itill,  800  to  the  Batalllon — 2,400  sons  of  Aiiak  in  all.  Sublime  enough,  hugely  per 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


i*  is  remarRahle  that,  though  the  main  end  of  Frederick  William’s 
administration  was  to  have  a military  force,  thongli  his  reign  forms 
an  important  epoch  in  tlie  history  of  military  discipline,  and  tliongh 
his  dominant  pas.sion  was  tlie  love  of  military  display,  he  was  yet  one 
of  the  most  pacific  of  princes.  We  are  afraid  that  his  aversion  to  \var 
was  not  the  effect  of  humanity,  hut  was  merely  one  of  his  thousand 

whims,  f His feeling  about  his  _troops  seems  tQ.,have  resembled  ,a 

miser’s  meling  about  his  money.  He  loved  Jx>_c<jllect  theta,  to  count 
tTIem,  to  see  thmiT  increase,  hut  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to 
brealun  upon  the  precious  hoard.  Nile  looked  forward  to  some  future 
time  when  his  Patagonian  battaliems  were  to  drive  hostile  infantry  be- 
fore them  like  sheep  But  this  future  time  was  always  receding,  and 
it  is  probable  that  if  his  life  had  been  prolonged  thirty  years  his  su- 
perb army  would  never  have  seen  any  harder  service  than  a sham 
fight  in  the  fields  near  Berlin.  But  the  great  military  means  which 
he  had  collected  were  destined  to  be  employed  by  a spirit  far  more 
daring  and  inventive  than  his  own. 

Frederick,  surnamed  the  Great,  son  of  Frederick  William,  was 
born  in  January,  1712.  It  may  safely  be  pronounced  that  he  had  re- 
ceived from  nature  a strong  and  sharp  understanding,  and  a rare  firm- 
ness of  temper  and  intensity  of  will.  As  to  the  other  ]iarts  of  his 
character,  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  they  are  to  be  ascilbed  to  na- 
ture or  to  the  strange  training  which  he  underwent.  The  history  of 
his  boyhood  is  painfully  interesting.  Oliver  Twist  in  the  parish  work- 
house,  Smike  at  Dothehoys  Hall,  were  petted  children  when  compared 
with  this  wretched  heir-a]iparent  of  a crown.  The  nature  of  Freder- 
ick 'William  was  hard  and  bad,  and  the  habit  of  exercising  arbitrary 
power  had  made  him  frightfully  savage.  His  rage  constantly  vented 


feet  to  the  royal  eye,  each  a mass  of  shining  giants,  in  their  long-drawn  recmlarities 
and  mathematical  manoeuvrings,  like  some  streak  of  Promethean  lightning?  realized 
here  at  last  in  the  vul.ar  dusk  of  things. 

“Truly  they  are  men  supreme  in  discipline,  in  beauty  of  equipment,  and  the 
shortest  man  of  them  rises,  I think,  toward  seven  feet ; s me  are  nearly  nine  feet 
high.  Men  from  all  countries  : a hundred  and  odd  come  annually,  as  we  saw.  from 
Russia— a very  precious  windfall : the  rest  have  been  collected,  crumped,  purchased 
out  of  every  European  country  at  enormous  ex  ense,  not  to  speak  of  other  trouble 
to  Ills  Majesty.  James  Kirkman,  an  Irish  recruit  of  good  inches,  cost  him  £1,200 
before  he  could  btrigut  Inveigled,  shipped,  and  brought  safe  to  hand.  The  docu' 
ments  are  yet  inexistence;  and  the  portrait  of  this  Irish  fellow-cuizen  himself, 
who  is  by  no  means  a beautiful  man.  Indeed,  they  are  all  portrayed — all  the  pri- 
vates of  this  distinguished  Regiment  are,  if  anybody  cared  to  look  at  them,  ‘ Rc- 
divanofl  from  Moscow’  seems  of  far  better  bone  than  Kirkman,  though  still  more 
stolid  of  aspect.  One  Hohmann,  a born  Pru“shm,  was  so  tall  yon  could  not,  though 
yon  yourself  tall,  touch  his  bare  crown  with  your  h.ind  ; August  the  Strong  of  Poland 
'tried  on  one  occasion  and  could  not.  Before  Hohmann  turned  up,  there  had  been 
Monas,  the  Norwegian  Blacksmith,’ also  a dreadfully  tall  monster.  Giant  ‘Mac- 
doll  ’ — who  was  to  be  married,  no  consent  asked  on  either  side,  to  the  tall  young 
Woman,  which  hit  ter  turned  out  to  be  a decrepit  oW  woman  (all  Jest-Books  know  the 
myth) — he  also  was  an  Iri,«h  giant,  his  name  probably  M’Dow  1.  This  Hoh  aim 
was  now  Fliiqlemann  ('fugleman’  as  we  have  n med  it,  leader  of  the  flic),  the 
Tallest  of  the  Regiment,  a very  mountain  of  pipe-clayed  flesh  and  bone,’’ 


FREDEEICK  THE  GREAT 


itself  to  right  and  left  in  curses  and  blows,  ^^’hen  lii.s  majesty  tor^ 
a walk,  every  human  being  fled  before  him  as  if  a tiger  had  broke* 
loose  from  a menagerie.  ^If  he  met  a lady  in  the  street  he  gave  her  i 
kick  and  told  her  to  go  home  and  mind  her  brats.  If  he  saw  a clergy- 
man staring  at  the  soldiers,  he  admonished  the  reverend  gentleman 
to  betake  himself  to  study  and  prayer,  and  enforced  this  pious  advice 
by  a sound  caning,  administered  on  the  spot^  But  it  was  in  his  own 
bouse  that  he  was  most  unreasonable  and  ferocious.  His  palace  was 
hell,  and  he  the  most  execrable  of  fiends — a cross  between  Moloch  and 
Puck.  His  son  Frederick*  and  his  daughter  M'ilhelmina,  afterwards 
Margravine  of  Bareuth,  were  in  an  especial  manner  objects  of  his 
aversion.  His  mvn  mind  was  uncultivated.  He  despised  literature. 
He  hated  infidels.  Papists,  and  metaphysicians,  and  did  not  very  well 
understand  in  what  they  differed  from  each  other.  The  business  of 
life,  according  to  him,  waste  drill  and  to  be  drilled.  The  recreations 
suited  to  a prince  were  to  sit  in  a cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  to  sip 
Swedish  beer  between  the  puffs  of  the  pipe,  to  play  backgammon  for 
three-halfpence  a rubber,  to  kill  wild  hogs,  and  to  shoot  partridges  by 
the  thousand.  The  Prince-Royal  showed  little  inchnation  either  for 
the  serious  employments  or  for  the  amusements  of  his  father.  He 
shirked  the  duties  of  the  parade — he  detested  the  fume  of  tobacco — 
he  had  no  taste  either  for  backgammon  or  for  field-sports,  lie  had 
received  from  nature  an  exquisite  ear,  and  performed  skilfully  on  the 
flute.  His  earliest  instructors  had  been  French  refugees,  and  they 
had  awakened  in  him  a strong  passion  for  French  literature  and 
French  society.  Frederick  William  regarded  these  tastes  as  effemi- 
nate and  contemptible,  and  by  abuse  and  persecution  made  them  still 
stronger.  Things  became  worse  when  the  Prince-Royal  attained  that 
time  of  life  at  which  the  great  revolution  in  the  human  mind  and 
body  takes  place.  He  was  guilty  of  some  youthful  indiscretions, 
which  no  good  and  wise  parent  would  regard  with  severity.  At  a 
later  period  he  was  accused,  truly  or  falsely,  of  vices  from  which  His- 
tory averts  her  eyes,  and  which  even  Satire  blushes  to  name — vices 

* The  following  is  his  answer  to  an  humble  supplication  of  Friedrich's  for  for- 
giveness ; — 

“ Tliy  [in  German  the  contemptuous  third  person  singular  i.s  used]  obstinate,  per- 
verse disposition  {Knpf,  head),  which  does  not  love  thy  Father — for  when  one  does 
every  thing,  and  really  loves  one’s  Father,  one  does  what  the  Father  requires,  not 
while  he  is  there  to  see  it,  but  when  his  flack  is  Innied  too.  For  the  rest,  thon 
know’st  very  well  that  I can  endure  : o effeminate  fellow  (efeminirUn  Kci-l).  w'.io 
lias  no  human  inclination  in  him;  who  puts  himself  to  sh.ime.  c mnot  ridein  r 
shoot,  and  withal  is  dirty  in  his  person  ; frizzles  his  hair  like  a fool,  and  does  not 
cut  it  off.  And  all  this  I have  a thousand  times  reprimanded  ; but  all  in  vain,  and 
no  improvement  in  nothing  (keine  Besaerung  in  nichts  Uf).  For  the  rest,  hauehly, 
proud  as  a chnrl ; speaks  to  nobody  but  sorhe  few,  and  is  not  popular  and  affable ; 
and  cuts  grimaces  with  his  face,  as  if  he  were  a fool ; and  does  my  will  in  nothing 
unless  held  to  it  by  force:  nothing  out  of  love; — and  has  pleasure  in  nothing  but 
following  his  own  whims  (own  Kopf) — no  use  to  him  in  am'  thing  else.  This  is  the 
answer.  Frtedricu  Wilheui.” 

Carlyle  (vol.  ii.,  pp.  4T,  48.) 


5'REDEHICK  THE  GREAT, 


5 


Bucli  thcat,  to  hoiTow  the  energetic  language  of  Lord-Keeper  Coven- 
try, “the  depraved  nature  of  man,  which  of  itself  carrieth  manta 
all  other  sin,  abhorreth  them.”  But  the  offences  of  his  youth  were 
not  characterized  by  any  peculiar  turpitude.  They  excited,  however, 
transports  of  rage  in  the  Icing,  who  hated  all  faults  except  those  to 
which  he  was  himself  inclined,  and  who  conceived  that  he  made  am- 
ple atonement  to  Heaven  for  his  brutality,  by  holding  the  softer  pas- 
sions in  detestation.  The  Prince-Royal,  too,  was  not  one  of  those 
who  are  content  to  take  their  religion  on  trust.  He  asked  puzzling 
questions,  and  brought  forward  arguments  which  seemed  to  savor 
of  something  different  from  pure  Lutheranism.  The  king  susi^ected 
that  his  son  was  inclined  to  be  a heretic  of  some  sort  or  other,  whether 
Calvinist  or  xltheist,  his  majesty  did  not  very  well  know.  The  ordi- 
nary malignity  of  Frederick  William  was  bad  enough.  He  now 
thought  malignity  a part  of  his  duty  as  a Chidstian  man,  and  all  the 
conscience  that  he  had  stimulated  his  hatred,  f The  flute  was  broken 
— the  French  books  were  sent  out  of  the  palace — the  prince  was 
kicked  and  cudgelled  and  pulled  by  the  hair.  At  dinner  the  plates 
were  hurled  at  his  head — sometimes  he  was  restricted  to  bread  and 
water — sometimes  he  was  forced  to  swallow  food  so  nauseous  that  he 
could  not  keep  it  on  his  stomach.  Once  his  father  knocked  him 
down,  dragged  him  along  the  floor  to  a window,  and  was  with  diffi^ 
culty  prevented  from  strangling  him  with  the  cord  of  the  curtaiiij 
The  queen,  for  the  crime  of  not  wishing  to  see  her  son  murdered,  was 
sirbjected  to  the  grossest  indignities.  The  Princess  Wilhelmina,  who 
took  her  brother’s  part,  was  treated  almost  as  ill  as  Mrs.  Bro^vurigg’s 
apprentices.  ( Driven  to  despair,  the  unhappy  youth  tried  to  run 
away;  then  me  fury  of  the  old  tyrant  rose  to  madness.  The  prince 
■was  an  officer  in  the  arnry  ; his  flight  was  therefore  desertion,  and,  in 
the  moral  code  of  Frederick  William,  desertion  Avas  the  highest  of  all 
crimes.  “ Desertion,”  says  this  royal  theologian  in  one  of  his  half- 
crazy letters,  “ is  from  hell.  It  is  a Avork  of  the  children  of  the  deA-il. 
No  child  of  God  could  possibly  be  guilty  of  it.”  An  accomplice  of 
the  prince,  in  spite  of  t,he  recommendation  of  a court-martial,  Avas 
mercilessly  put  to  death.  It  seemed  probable  that  the  prince  himself 
AA'ould  suffer  the  same  fate.  It  Avas  Avith  difficulty  that  the  interces- 
sion of  the  States  of  Holland,  of  the  Kings  of  SAveden  and  Poland, 
and  of  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  saved  the  house  of  Brandenburgh 
from  the  stain  of  an  unnatural  murder.  After  months  of  cruel  sus- 
pense, Frederick  learnedJhat  his  life  AA-ould  be  spared.  He  remained, 
liOAveA'er,  long  a prisoner^  but  he  AA^as  not  on  that  account  to  be  pitied. 
He  found  in  his  jailors  aTtenderness  Avhich  he  had  never  found  in  his 
father  ; his  table  Avas  not  sumptuous,  but  he  had  AAdiolesome  food  in 
sufficient  quantity  to  appease  hunger  ; he  could  read  the  Ilevriadi 
AAOthout  being  kicked,  and  play  on  his  flute  Avithout  having  it  broken 
over  his  head. 

When  his  confinement  terminated,  he  Avas  a man.  He  had  nearly 


e 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


completed  his  twenty-first  year,  and  could  scarcely,  even  by  such  a 
parent  as  Fiedericlc  William,  be  kept  much  longer  under  the  re 
straints  which  had  made  his  boyhood  miserable.  Suffering  had  ma 
tured  Ids  understanding,  while  it  had  hardened  his  heart  and  soured 
his  temper.  He  had  learnt  self-command  and  dissimulation  ; he  af 
tected  to  conform  to  some  of  his  father’s  views,  and  sulunissively  ac 
cepted  a wife,  who  was  a wife  only  in  name,  from  his  father’s  hand. 
He  also  served  with  credit,  though  without  any  opportunity  of  ac- 
(piiring  brilliant  distinction,  under  the  command  of  Prince  Eugene, 
during  a campaign  marked  by  no  extraordinary  events.  He  was  now 
permitted  to  keep  a separate  establishment,  and  was  therefore  able  to 
indulge  with  caution  his  own  tastes.  Partly  in  order  to  conciliate  the 
king,  and  partly,  no  doubt,  f>’om  inclination,  he  gave  up  a portion  of 
Ids  time  to  military  and  political  business,  and  thus  gradually  ac- 
miiredsuchan  aptitude  for  affairs  as  his  most  intimate  associates  were 
not  aware  that  he  possessed. 

His  favorite  abode  was  at  Rheinsberg,  near  the  frontier  wluch 
separates  the  Prussian  dominions  from  the  duchy  of  Mecklenburg. 
Rheinsberg  is  a fertile  and  smiling  spot,  in  the  mid.st  of  the  sandy 
waste  of  the  .Marquisate.  The  mansion,  surrounded  by  woods  of  oak 
and  beecli,  looks  out  upon  a spacious  lake.  There  Frederick  amused 
himself  by  laying  out  gardens  in  regular  alleys  and  intricate  mazes, 
by  building  obelisks,  temples,  and  conservatories,  and  by  collecting 
rare  fruits  and  tlowers.  Ilis  retirement  was  enlivened  by  a few  com- 
panions, among  wliom  he  seems  to  have  preferred  those  who,  by  birth 
or  extraction,  were  French.  With  these  inmates  he  dined  and  supped 
well,  drank  freely,  and  amused  himself  sometimes  with  concerts, 
sometimes  with  holding  chapters  of  a fraternity  which  he  called  the 
Order  of  Bayard  ; but  literature  was  his  chief  resource. 

His  education  had  been  entirely  French.  The  long  ascendency 
which  Louis  XIV.  had  enjoyed,  and  the  eminent  merit  of  the  tragic  and 
comic  dramatists,  of  the  satirists,  and  of  the  preachers  who  had  fiour- 
ished  under  that  ma  nificent  prince,  had  made  the  French  language 
predominant  in  Europe.  Even  in  countries  which  had  a national 
literature,  and  which  could  boast  of  names  greater  than  those  of  Ra- 
cine, of  Moliere,  and  of  Massillon — in  the  country  of  Dante,  in  tlie 
country  of  Cervantes,  in  tlie  country  of  Shakspeare  and  ^lilton — the 
intellectual  fashions  of  Paris  had  been  to  a great  extent  adopted. 
Germany  had  not  yet  produced  a single  ma.stcrpie.  e of  poetry  or  elo- 
quence. In  Germany,  tlierefore,  the  French  taste  reigned  without 
rival  and  without  limit.  Every  youth  of  rank  was  taught  to  speak 
and  write  French.  That  he  should  speak  and  write  his  own  tongue 
witli  ]ioliteness,  or  even  with  accuracy  and  facility,  was  regarded  as 
comparatively  an  unimpM'tant  object.  Even  Frederick  William,  with 
all  his  rugged  Saxon  prejudices,  thought  it  necessary  that  his  chil- 
dren should  know  French,  and  quite  unnecessary  that  they  should  be 
well  versed  in  German.  The  Latin  was  positively  interdicted.  “My 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT, 


■J 

son,”  His  Majesty  wrote,  “shall  not  learn  Latin;  and,  more  than 
that,  I will  not  suffer  anybody  even  to  mention  such  a thing  to  me.” 
One  of  the  preceptors  ventured  to  read  the  Golden  Bull  iu  the  original 
with  the  Prince- Royal.  Frederick  William  entered  the  room,  and 
broke  out  in  his  usual  kingly  style, 

‘ ‘ Rascal,  what  ai  e you  at  there  ? ” 

“ Please  Your  Majesty,”  answered  the  preceptor,  “ I was  explain 
ing  the  Golden  Bull  to  His  Royal  Highness.” 

“ ril  Golden  Bull  you,  you  rascal,”  roared  tlie  majesty  of  Prussia 
Up  went  the  king’s  cane,  away  ran  the  terriflt  d instructor,  and  Fred 
erick’s  classical  studies  ended  forever.  He  now  and  then  affected  tc 
quote  Latin  sentences,  and  ijroduced  such  exquisite  Ciceronian  phrasoi 
as  these:  “ Stante  pede  morire” — “ De  gustibus  non  est  disputan 
dus  ” — “ Tot  verbas  tot  spondera.”  Of  Italian,  he  had  not  enough 
to  read  a page  of  Metastasio  with  ease,  and  of  Spanish  and  English, 
^ did  not,  as  far  as  we  are  aware,  understand  a single  word, 
r As  the  highest  human  compositions  to  which  he  had  access  were 
Ithoseofthe  French  writers,  it  is  not  strange  that  his  admiration  for 
/those  writers  should  have  been  unbounded.  His  ambitious  and  eager 
temper  early  j>rompted  him  to  imitate  what  he  admired.  The  wish, 
“jlbrliaps,  dearest  to  his  heart  was,  that  he  might  rank  among  ti.e 
masters  of  French  rhetoric  and  poetry.  {He  wrote  prose  and  verse  3^ 
indefatigably  as  if  he  had  been  a starving  hack  of  Cave  or  Osboni^ 
but  Nature,  which  had  bestowed  on  him  in  a large  measure  tlie 
talents  of  a captain  and  of  an  administrator,  had  withheld  from  him 
those  higher  and  rarer  gifts,  without  which  industry  labors  in  vain 
to  produce  immortal  eloquence  or  song.  And,  indeed,  had  he  been 
blessed  with  more  imagination,  wit,  and  fertility  of  thought  than  he 
appears  to  have  had,  he  would  still  have  been  subject  to  one  great 
disadvaniao-p  I'-liich  would,  in  all  probability,  have  forevqr  prevented 
him  lr._._  a high  place  among  men  of  letters.  He  had  not  the 

full  command  of  any  language.  There  was  no 'machine  of  thought 
which  he  could  employ  with  perfect  ease,  confidence,  and  free 
dom.  He  had  German  enough  to  see  Id  his  servants  or  to  giv'e  the 
word  of  command  to  his  grenadiers  ; but  his  grammar  and  pronun 
ciation  were  extremely  bad.  He  found  it  difficult  to  make  out  the 
meaning  even  of  the  simplest  German  poetry.  On  one  occasion  a ver 
sion  of  Racine’s  Iphigenie  was  read  to  him.  He  held  the  French 
original  in  his  hand  ; -but  was  forced  to  own  that,  even  with  such 
help,  he  could  not  understand  the  translation.  A'et  though  he  had 
neglected  his  mother  tongue  in  order  to  bestow  all  his  attention  on 
French,  his  French  was,  after  all,  the  French  of  a foreigner.  It  was 
necessary  for  him  to  have  always  at  his  beck  some  men  of  letters 
from  Paris  to  point  out  the  solecisms  and  false  rhymes,  of  which,  to 
the  last,  he  was  frequently  guilty.  Even  had  he  possessed  the 
poetic  faculty— of  which,  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  he  was  utterly 
destitute — ^the  want  of  a language  would  have  prevented  him  from 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


^eing  a great  poet.  No  noble  work  of  imagination,  as  far  as  we  can 
recollect,  was  ever  composed  by  any  man,  except  in  a dialect  which  he 
had  learned  without  remembering  how  or  when,  and  which  he  had 
spoken  with  perfect  ease  before  he  had  ever  analyzed  its  structure. 
Romans  of  great  talents  wrote  Greek  verses  ; but  how  many  of  tho.se 
verses  have  deserved  to  live  ? Many  men  of  eminent  genius  have,  in 
modern  times,  written  Latin  poems  ; but,  as  far  as  we  are  aware, 
none  of  those  poems,  not  even  Milton’s,  can  be  ranked  in  the  firet 
class  of  art,  or  even  very  high  in  the  second.  It  is  not  strange, 
'therefore,  that  in  the  French  verses  of  Frederick,  we  can  find  notliing 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  man  of  good  parts  anrl  industry — notliing 
above  the  level  of  Newdigate  and  Seatonian  poetry.  His  best  pieces 
may  perhaps  rank  with  the  worst  in  Dodsley’s  collection.  In  history 
he  succeeded  better.  We  do  not,  indeed,  find  in  any  part  of  his 
voluminous  Memoirs  either  deep  reflection  or  vivid  painting.  But 
the  narrative  is  distinguished  by  clearness,  conciseness,  good  sense, 
and  a certain  air  of  truth  and  simplicity,  which  is  singularly  graceful 
in  a man  who,  having  done  great  things,  sits  down  to  relate  them. 
On  the  whole,  however,  none  of  his  writings  are  so  agreeable  to  us 
his  Letters  ; particularly  those  which  are  written  wth  earnestness, 
and  are  not  embroidered  with  verses. 

' It  is  not  strange  that  a young  man  devoted  to  literature,  and  sc 
quainted  only  with  the  literature  of  France,  should  have  looked  with 
profound  veneration  on  the  genius  of  Voltaire.  Nor  is  it  just  to  con- 
demn him  for  this  feeling.  “ A man  who  has  never  seen  the  sun,” 
says  Calderon  in  one  of  his  charming  comedies,  “cannot  be  blamed 
for  thinking  that  no  glory  can  exceed  that  of  the  moon.  A m in 
who  has  seen  neither  moon  nor  sun  cannot  be  blamed  for  talking  of 
the  unrivaled  brightness  of  the  morning  star.’’  Had  Frederick  b -en 
able  to  read  Homer  and  Milton,  or  even  Virgil  and  Tasso,  his  admira- 
tion of  the  llenrinde  would  prove  that  he  was  uttv  of  the 

power  of  discerning  what  is  excellent  in  art.  Had  he  oeen  familiar 
with  Sophocles  or  Shakspeare,  we  should  have  expected  him  to  ap- 
preciate Zaire  more  justly.  Had  he  been  able  to  study  Thucydidi'S 
and  Tacitus  in  the  original  Greek  and  Latin,  he  would  have  known 
that  there  were  heights  in  the  eloquence  of  history  far  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  author  of  the  Life  of  Charles  the  Ttcelfth.  But  the  finest 
heroic  poem,  several  of  the  most  powerful  tragedies,  and  the  most, 
brilliant  and  picturesque  historical  work  that  Frederick  had  ever 
read,  were  Voltaire’s.  Such  high  and  various  excellence  moved  the 
young  prince  almost  to  adoration.  The  opinions  of  Voltaire  on  reli- 
gious and  philsophical  questions  had  not  yet  been  fully  exhibited  to 
the  public.  At  a later  period,  when  an  exile  from  his  country,  and 
at  open  war  with  the  Church,  he  spoke  out.  But  when  Frederick 
vas  at  Rheinsberg,  Voltaire  was  still  a courtier  ; and,  though  he 
could  not  always  curb  his  petuleut  wit,  he  had,  as  yet,  published 
nothing  that  could  exclude  him  from  Vei-sailles.  and  little  that  a 


FEEbEKICK  THE  GREAT. 


9 


divine  of  the  inild  and  generous  scliool  of  Grotius  and  Tillotson  might 
not  read  with  pleasure.  In  the  Ilcnriade,  in  Zaire,  and  in  Alzire, 
Cliristian  piety  is  exhibited  in  the  most  amiable  form  ; and,  some 
years  after  the  period  of  which  we  are  writing,  a Pope  condescended 
to  accept  the  dedication  of  Mahomet.  The  real  sentiments  of  the 
poet,  however,  might  be  clearly  perceived  by  a keen  eye  through  the 
decent  disguise  with  which  he  veiled  them,  and  could  not  escape  the 
sagacity  of  Frederick,  who  held  similar  opinions,  and  had  been  ac- 
customed to  practise  similar  dissimulations. 

Tlie  prince  wrote  to  his  idol  in  the  style  of  a worshipper,  and  Vol- 
taire replied  with  exquisite  grace  and  address.  A correspondence 
followed,  which  may  be  studied  with  advantage  by  those  who  wish 
to  become  proficients  in  the  ignoble  aid  of  flattery.  No  man  ever  ])aid 
oomplinients  better  than  Voltaire.  His  sweetened  confectionery  bad 
always  a delicate,  yet  stimulating  flavor,  which  was  delightful  to 
palates  wearied  by  the  coarse  preparations  of  inferior  artists.  It  ivas 
only  from  his  hand  that  so  much  sugar  could  be  swallowed  without 
making  the  swallower  sick.  Copies  of  verses,  writing-desks,  trinlrets 
of  amber,  were  exchanged  between  the  friends.  Frederick  confided 
his  writings  to  Voltaire,  and  Voltaire  applauded  as  if  Frederick  had 
been  Racine  and  Bossuet  in  one.  One  of  his  Royal  Highness’s  per- 
formances was  a refutation  of  the  Principe  of  Machiavelli.  Voltaire 
undertook  to  convey  it  to  the  press.  It  was  entitled  the  Ajiti- 
Mrechiavel,  and  was  an  edifying  homily  against  rapacity,  perfidy,  ar- 
bitrary government,  unjust  war — in  short,  against  almost  every  thing 
for  which  its  author  is  now  remembered  among  men. 

The  old  king  uttered  now  and  then  a ferocious  growl  at  the  diver- 
sions of  Rheinsberg.  But  his  health  was  broken,  his  end  was  ap- 
proadiing,  and  his  vigor  was  impaired.  He  had  only  one  pleasure 
left — that  of  seeing  tall  soldiers.  He  could  always  be  propitiated  by  a 
present  of  a grenadier  of  six  feet  eight  or  six  feet  nine  ; and  such 
presents  were  from  time  to  time  judiciously  offered  by  his  son. 

Early  in  the  year  1740,  Frederick  William*  met  death  with  a firm- 


* Macaulay  is  a little  too  harsh  with  the  old  king.  The  following  extract  from 
Carlyle’s  recent  Life  of  Frederick  the  Great,  describing  the  last  hours  of  Friederich 
Wilhelm,  will  show  something  better  in  his  character  : “ For  the  rest,  he  is  strug- 

gling between  death  and  life,  in  general  persuade  that  the  end  is  fast  hastening  on. 
He  sends  for  Chief-Freacher  Eoloff  out  to  Potsdam  ; has  some  notable  dialogues 
with  Eoloff  and  with  two  other  Potsdam  clergymen,  of  which  there  is  record  still 
left  us.  In  thsee,  as  m all  his  demeanor  at  this  supreme  time,  we  see  the  big,  rug- 
ged block  of  manhood  come  out  very  vividly  ; strongin  his  simplicity,  in  his  veram- 
ty.  Friedrich  Wilhelm’s  wish  is  to  know  from  Eoloff  what  the  chances  are  for  him 
in  the  other  world— which  is  not  less  certain  than  Potsdam  and  the  giant  grenadiers 
to  Friedrich  Wilhelm ; and  where,  he  perceives,  never  half  so  clearly  before,  he 
shall  actually  peel  off  his  Kinghood  and  stand  before  God  Almighty  no  better  than 
a naked  beggar.  Eoloff’s  prognostics  are  not  so  encouraging  as  the  King  had 
hoped.  Surely  this  King  ‘ never  took  or  coveted  what  was  not  his  ; kept  true  to  his 
marriage-vow,  in  spite  of  horrible  examples  eveiywhere  ; believed  the  Bible,  hon- 
ored the  Preachers,  went  diligently  to  Church,  and  tried  to  do  what  he  understood 
Hod’s  commandments  were  ) ’ To  all  which  Eoloff,  a courageous,  pious  man,  an- 


10 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


ness  and  dignity  worthy  of  a better  and  wiser  man  ; and  Frederick, 
who  had  j ust  completed  his  twenty-eighth  year,  became  King  of  Prus- 
sia. His  character  was  little  understood.  Thax  he  had  good  abilities, 
indeed,  no  person  who  had  talked  with  him  or  corresponded  with  him 
could  doubt.  But  the  easy.  Epicurean  li  e which  he  had  led,  his  lov^e 
of  good  cookery  and  good  wine,  of  music,  of  conversation,  of  light 
literature,  led  many  to  regard  him  as  a sensual  and  intellectual  vo- 
luptuary. His  habit  of  canting  about  moderation,  peace,  liberty,  and 
the  happiness  which  a good  mind  derives  from  the  happiness  of  oth- 
ers, had  imposed  on  some  who  should  have  known  better.  Those 
who  thought  best  of  him  expected  a Telemachus  after  Fenelon’s  pat- 
tern. Others  predicted  the  approach  of  a Medicean  age — an  age  pro- 
pitious to  learning  and  art,  and  not  unpropitious  to  pleasure.  Nobody 
liad  the  least  suspicion  that  a tyrant  of  extraordinary  military  and 
political  talents,  of  industry  more  extraordinary  still,  without  fear, 
without  faith,  and  without  mercy,  had  ascended  the  throne. 

The  disappointment  of  Falstaff  at  his  old  boon  companion’s  corona- 
tion was  not  more  bitter  than  that  which  awaited  some  of  the  in- 
mates of  Rheinsberg.  They  had  long  looked  forward  to  the  accession 
of  tlieir  ])atron,  as  to  the  day  from  which  their  own  prosperity  and 
greatness  was  to  date.  They  had  at  last  reached  the  promised  land, 
the  land  which  they  had  figured  to  themselves  as  flowing  with  milk 
and  honey,  and  they  found  it  a desert.  “ No  more  of  these  fooleries,” 
was  the  short,  sharp  admonition  given  by  F rederick  to  one  of  them. 
It  soon  became  plain  that,  in  the  most  important  points,  the  new 
sovereign  bore  a strong  family  likeness  to  his  predecessor.  There 
was  a wide  difference  between  the  father  and  the  son  as  respected  ex- 
tent and  vigor  of  intellect,  speculative  opinions,  amusements,  studies, 
outward  demeanor.  But  the  groundwork  of  the  character  was  the 
same  in  both.  To  both  were  common  the  love  of  order,  the  love  of 
business,  the  militai-y  taste,  the  parsimony,  the  imperious  spirit,  the 

swers  with  discreet  words  and  shakinss  of  the  head.  ‘Did  I behave  ill  then,  did  I 
ever  do  injustice  f ’ Rololl  mentions  Baron  Schlubhut,  the  defalcating  Amtmann, 
hanged  at  KOnigsberg  without  even  a trial.  ‘ He  had  no  trial ; but  was  there  any 
doubt  he  had  justice  ? A public  thief,  confessing  he  had  stolen  the  taxes  he  was  set 
to  gather  ; insolently  offering,  as  if  that  wereall,  torepay  the  money,  and  saying.  It 
was  not  Manier  (good  mauners)  to  hang  a nobleman  ! ’ .Eoloff  shakes  his  head, 
‘ Too  violent,  Your  Majesty,  and  savoring  of  the  tyrannous.  The  poor  King  must 
repent . ’ 

“ ‘ Well — is  there  any  thing  more  ? Out  with  it,  then  ; better  now  thantoolate  i ’ 
[And  certain  building  operations  of  an  oppressive  character  come  under  review.] 

. . . ‘ And  then  there  is  forgiveness  of  enemies  ; Your  Majesty  is  bound  to  for- 

give all  men,  or  how  can  you  ask  to  be  forgiven  ?’ — ‘Well  I will ; I do.  You  Feekin 
[his  wife,  Queen  Sophie],  write  to  your  brother  (unforgiveablest  of  beings),  after  I 
am  dead,  that  I forgave  him,  died  in  peace  with  him.’~l'  Better  Her  Majesty  should 
write  at  once,’  suggests  Eoloff. — ‘ No,  after  I am  dead,’  persists  the  son  of  nature — 
‘ that  will  be  safer  1 ’ An  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  big  block  of  manhood  and  sim- 
plicity and  sincerity  ; such  as  we  rarely  get  sight  of  among  the  modem  sons  of 
Adam,  among  the  crowned  sons  nearly  never.  At  parting  he  said  to  Eoloff,  ‘ you 
(Er,  He)  do  not  spare  me  : »t  is  right.  You  do  your  duty  like  au  honest  Christiai) 
man.  ’ ’ (vol.  ii  , po.  68l-t)83). 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


11 


temper  in  table  even  to  ferocity,  the  pleasure  in  the  pain  and  hu- 
miliation of  others.  But  these  propensities  had  in  Frederick  Wil- 
liam partaken  of  the  general  unsoundness  of  his  mind,  and  wore  a 
very  different  aspect  when  found  in  company  with  the  strong  and 
cultivated  understanding  of  his  successor.  Thus,  for  example,  Freder- 
ick was  as  anxious  as  any  prince  could  be  about  the  efficacy  of  his 
army.  But  this  anxiety  never  degenerated  into  a monomania,  lOve 
that  which  led  his  father  to  pay  fancy  prices  for  giants.  Frederick 
Was  as  thrifty  about  money  as  any  prince  or  any  private  man  ought 
to  be.  But  he  did  not  conceive,  like  his  father,  that  it  was  worth 
while  to  eat  unwholesome  cabbages  for  the  sake  of  saving  four  or 
five  rix  dollars  in  the  year.  Frederick  was,  we  fear,  as  malevolent 
as  his  father  ; but  Frederick’s  wit  enabled  him  often  to  show  his 
malevolence  in  ways  more  decent  than  those  to  which  his  father 
resorted,  and  to  inflict  misery  and  degradation  by  a taunt  instead  of  a 
blow.  Frederick,  it  is  true,  by  no  means  relinquished  liis  hereditary 
privilege  of  kicking  and  cudgelling.  His  practice,  however,  as  to 
that  matter  differed  in  some  important  respects  from  his  father’s.  To 
Frederick  William,  the  mere  circumstance  that  any  jiersons  whatever, 
men,  women,  or  children,  Prussians  or  foreigners,  were  within  reach 
of  his  toes  and  of  his  cane,  appeared  to  be  a sufficient  reason  for  pro- 
ceeding to  belabor  them.  Frederick  required  provocation  as  well  as 
vicinity  ; nor  was  he  ever  Imown  to  inflict  this  paternal  species  of 
correction  on  any  but  his  born  subjects  ; though  on  one  occasion  M. 
Thiebault  had  reason  during  a few  seconds  to  anticipate  the  high 
honor  of  being  an  exception  to  this  general  rule.' 

The  character  of  Frederick  was  still  very  imperfectly  understood 
either  by  his  subjects  or  by  his  neighbors,  when  events  occurred 
which  exhibited  it  in  a strong  light.  A few  months  after  his  acces- 
sion died  Charles  VI.,  Emperor  of  Germany,  the  last  descendant  in 
the  male  line  of  the  house  of  Austria. 

Charles  left  no  son,  and  had  long  before  his  death  relin([uished  all 
hopes  of  male  issue.  During  the  latter  part  of  his  life  his  principal 
object  had  been  to  secure  to  his  descendants  in  the  female  line  the 
many  crowns  of  the  house  of  Hapsburg.  With  this  view,  he  had 
promulgated  a new  law  of  succession  widely  celebrated  throughout 
Europe  under  the  name  of  the  “ Pragmatic  Sanction.”  By  virtue  of 
this  decree,  his  daughter,  the  Archduchess  Maria  Theresa,  wife  of 
Francis  of  Lorraine,  succeeded  to  the  dominions  of  her  ancestors. 

No  sovereign  has  ever  taken  possession  of  a throne  by  a clearer 
title.  All  the  po'itics  of  the  Austrian  cabinet  had  during  twenty 
years  been  directed  to  one  single  end — the  settlement  of  the  succes- 
sion. From  every  person  whose  rights  could  be  considered  as  injuri- 
ously affected,  renunciations  in  the  most  solemn  form  had  been  ob- 
tained. The  new  law  had  been  ratified  by  the  Estates  of  all  the  king- 
doms and  principalities  which  made  up  the  great  Austrian  monarchy. 
England,  France,  Spain,  Russia,  Poland,  Prussia,  Sweden,  Denmark 


.13 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


the  Germanic  body,  had  bound  themselt  js  by  treaty  to  ir.aintain  ihe 
“ Pragmatic  Sanction.”  That  instrument  was  placed  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  j)ubiic  faith  of  the  wiiole  civilized  world. 

Even  if  no  positive  stipulations  on  this  subject  had  existed,  the 
arrangement  was  one  which  no  good  man  would  have  been  willing  to 
disturb.  It  was  a peaceable  arrangement.  It  was  an  arrangement 
acceptable  to  the  great  population  whose  happiness  was  chiefly  con- 
cerned. It  was  an  arr  ingement  which  made  no  change  in  the  distri- 
bution of  power  among  the  states  of  Christendom.  It  was  an  ar- 
rangement which  could  be  set  aside  only-  by  means  of  a general  war  ; 
ami,  if  it  were  set  aside,  the  effect  would  be  that  the  equilibrium  of 
Europe  would  be  deranged,  that  the  loy-al  and  iiatriotic  feelings  of 
millions  would  be  cruelly- out  raged,  and  that  great  provinces  which  had 
been  united  for  centuries  would  be  torn  from  each  other  by-  main 
force. 

The  sovereigns  of  Europe  were  therefore  bound  by-  every-  obligation 
which  those  who  are  intrusted  with  power  over  their  fellow-creatures 
ought  to  hold  most  sacred,  to  respect  and  defend  the  right  of  tlu' 
Archduchess.  Her  situation  and  her  personal  qualities  were  such  as 
might  be  expected  to  move  the  mind  of  any-  generous  man  to  pity-, 
admiration,  and  chivalrous  tenderness.  She  was  in  her  twenty- fourth 
year.  Her  form  was  majestic,  her  features  beautiful,  her  counte 
nance  sweet  and  animated,  her  v-oice  musical,  her  deportment  gracious 
and  dignified.  In  all  domestic  relations  she  was  without  reproach 
She  was  married  to  a husband  whom  she  loved,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  giving  birth  to  a child  when  death  deprived  her  of  her  father. 
The  loss  of  a parent  and  the  new  cares  of  the  empire  were  too  much 
for  her  in  the  delicate  state  of  her  health.  Her  spirits  were  depressed 
and  her  cheek  lost  its  bloom. 

A"et  it  seemed  that  she  had  little  cause  for  anxiety.  It  seemed  that 
justice,  humanity,  and  the  faith  of  treaties  would  have  their  due 
weight,  and  that  the  settlement  so  solemnly  guaranteed  would  be 
quietly  carried  into  effect.  England,  Russia,  Poland,  and  Holland 
declared  in  form  their  intentions  to  adhere  to  their  engagements 
The  French  ministers  made  a verbal  declaration  to  the  same  effect 
But  from  no  quarter  did  the  young  Queen  of  Hungary  receive  strong 
er  assura  '.ces  of  friendship  and  support  than  from  the  King  of  Prus 
sia. 

Yet  the  King  of  Prussia,  the  “ Anti-Machiavel,”  had  already  fully 
determined  to  commit  the  great  crime  of  violating  his  plighted  faith, 
of  robbing  the  ally  whom  he  was  bound  to  defend,  and  of  plunging 
all  Europe  into  a long,  bloody,  and  desolating  wnr,  and  aU  this  for  no 
end  whatever  except  that  he  might  extend  his  dominions  and  see  his 
name  in  the  gazettes.  He  determined  to  assemble  a great  army  with 
speed  and  secrecy  to  invade  Silesia  before  !^^ar^a.  Theresa  sEou^be 
apprized  of  his  (lesign,  and  to  add  that  rich  province  to  Ins TcinCTom. 

We  will  not  condescend  to  refuteTai  lengtlTllie^leas  . [put 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


15. 


forth  by]  Doctor  Preuss.  T^hey  amount  to  this — that  the  house  of 
Brandenburg  liad  some  ancient  pretensions  to  Silesia,  and  had  in  the 
previous  century  been  compelled  by  hard  usage  on  the  part  of  the 
court  of  Vienna,  to  waive  those  pretensions.  It  is  certain  that  who- 
ever might  originally  have  been  in  the  right  Prussia  had  submitted. 
Prince  after  prince  of  the  house  of  Brandenburg  had  acquiesced  in 
the  existing  arrangement.  Nay,  the  court  of  Ber  in  had  recently 
been  allied  vuth  that  of  Vienna,  and  had  guaranteed  the  integrity  of 
the  Austrian  States.  Is  it  not  perfectl_>  clear  that  if  antiquated 
claims  are  to  be  set  up  against  recent  treaties  and  long  possession,  the 
world  can  never  be  at  peace  for  a day?  The  laws  of  all  nations  have 
wisely  established  a time  of  limitation,  after  which  t'tles,  however 
illegitimate  in  their  origin,  cannot  be  questioned.  It  is  felt  by  every- 
body that  to  eject  a person  from  his  estate  on  the  ground  of  some  in- 
justice committed  in  the  time  of  the  Tudors,  would  produce  all  the 
evils  which  result  from  arbitrary  confiscation,  would  make  all  prop- 
erty insecure.  It  concerns  the  commonwealth — so  runs  the  legal 
maxim — that  there  be  an  end  of  litigation.  And  surely  this  maxim 
is  at  least  equally  applicable  to  the  great  commonwealth  of  States, 
for  in  that  commonwealth  litigation  means  the  devastation  of  prov- 
inces, the  suspension  of  trade  and  industry,  sieges  lilce  those  of  Bada- 
joz  and  St.  Sebastian,  pitched  fields  like  those  of  Eylau  and  Boro- 
dino. We  hold  that  the  transfer  of  Norway  from  Denma:^k  to 
Sweden  was  an  unjustifiable  proceeding  ; but  would  the  King  of  Hen- 
mark  be  therefore  justified  in  landing  without  any  new  provocation  in 
Norway,  and  commencing  military  operations  there  ? The  King  of 
Holland  thinks,  no  doubt,  that  he  was  unjustly  deprived  of  the  Bel- 
gian provinces.  Grant  that  it  were  so.  Would  he,  therefore,  be 
justified  in  marching  with  an  army  on  Brussels  ? The  case  against 
Frederick  was  still  stronger,  inasmuch  as  t'ue  inju.stice  of  which  he 
complained  had  been  committed  more  than  a century  before.  Nor 
must  it  be  forgotten  that  he  owed  the  highest  personal  obligations  to 
the  house  of  Austria.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  his  life  had  not 
been  preserved  by  the  intercession  of  the  pirince  whose  daughter  he 
was  about  to  plunder. 

To  do  the  king  justice,  he  pretended  to  no  more  virtue  than  he  had. 
In  manifestoes  he  might,  for  form’s  sake,  insert  some  idle  stories 
about  his  antiquated  claim  on  Silesia  ; but  in  his  conversations  and 
Memoirs  he  took  a very  different  tone.  To  quote  his  own  words — 
‘Ambition,  intej’^^_tlie  desire  of  making , people  talk  about  me, 
cai$’'kd  the  day,  and  J d.qcided  for.  war.” 

Thmng'fesolved  on  his  course,  he  acted  with  ability  and  vigor.  It 
was  impossible  wholly  to  conceal  his  preparations,  for  throughout  the 
Prussian  territories  regiments,  guns,  and  baggage  were  m motion. 
The  Austrian  envoy  at  Berlin  apprized  liis  court  of  these  facts,  and 
expressed  a suspicion  of  Frederick’s  designs  ; but  the  ministers  of 
Maria  Theresa  refused  to  give  credit  to  so  black  an  imputation  op  a 


14 


FKEDERICK  THE  GREAT, 


young  prince  wlio  was  known  cliiefly  by  bis  liigli  professions  of  in 
tegrity  and  pbilantlrropy.  “We  will  not,”  they  wrote,  “we  cannot 
bebeve  it.” 

In  the  meantime  the  Prussian  forces  bad  been  assembled.  With- 
out any  declaration  of  war,  without  any  demand  for  reparation,  in 
the  very  act  of  pouring  forth  compliments  and  assurances  of  good- 
will, Frederick  commenced  hostilities.  Many  thousands  of  his  troops 
were  actually  in  Silesia  before  the  Queen  of  Hungary  knew  that  he 
h ;d  set  up  any  claim  to  any  part  of  her  territories.  At  length  he 
sent  her  a message  which  could  be  regarded  only  as  an  insult.  If  she 
would  but  let  him  have  Silesia,  he  would,  he  said,  stand  by  her, 
against  any  power  which  should  try  to  deprive  her  of  her  other  do- 
minions ; as  if  he  was  not  already  bound  to  stand  by  her,  or  as  if  Ills 
new  promise  could  be  of  more  value  than  the  old  one  ! 

It  was  the  depth  of  winter.  The  cold  was  severe,  and  the  roads 
deep  in  mire.  But  the  Prussians  passed  on.  Resistance  was  impos- 
sible. The  Austrian  army  was  then  neither  numerous  nor  efficient. 
The  small  portion  of  that  army  which  lay  in  Silesia  was  unprepared 
for  hostilities.  Glogau  was  blockaded  ; Breslau  openetl  its  gates  ; 
Ohlau  was  evacuated.  A few  scattered  garrisons  still  held  out  ; but 
the  whole  open  country  was  subjugated  ; no  enemy  ventured  to  en- 
counter the  icing  in  the  field  ; and  before  the  end  of  January,  1741. 
he  returned  to  receive  thg.epngratulatious  of  his  subjects  at  iirr  in. 

Had  tliei, Silesian  question  been  merely  a question  between  Fredei- 
ick  and  Mafia  Theresa,  it  would  be  impossible  to  acquit  the  Prussian 
king  of  gross  perfidy.  But  when  we  consider  the  effects  which  his 
policy  produced,  and  could  not  fail  to  produce,  on  the  whole  commu- 
nity of  civilized  nations,  we  are  compelled  to  pronounce  a condemna- 
tion sill  more  severe.  Till  he  began  the  war  it  seemed  possible, 
even  probable,  that  the  peace  of  the  world  would  be  preserved.  The 
plunder  of  the  great  Austrian  heritage  was  indeed  a strong  tempta- 
tion ; and  in  more  than  one  cabinet  ambitious  schemes  were  already 
meditated.  But  the  treaties  by  which  the  “Pragmatic  Sanction”  had 
been  guaranteed  were  express  and  recent.  To  throw  all  Europe  into 
confusion  for  a purpose  clearl;*  unjust  was  no  light  matter.  England 
was  true  to  her  engagements.  The  voice  of  Fleury  ha  I always  been 
■ for  ])eace.  He  had  a conscience.  He  was  now  in  extreme  old  age, 
and  was  unwilling,  after  a life  which,  when  his  situation  was  con- 
sidered, must  be  pronounced  singularly  pure,  to  carry  th  ■ fresh  stain 
of  a great  crime  before  the  tribunal  of  his  God.  Even  the  vain  and 
unprincipled  Belle- Lsle,  whose  whole  life  was  one  wild  day-dream  of 
conquest  and  spoliation,  felt  that  France,  bound  as  she  was  by  solenm 
stipulations,  could  not  without  disgrace  make  a direct  attack  on  the 
Austrian  dominions.  Charles,  Elector  of  Bavaria,  pretended  that  he 
had  a right  to  a large  part  of  the  inheritance  which  the  “ Pragmatic 
Sanction”  gave  to  the  Queen  of  Hungary,  but  he  was  not  sufficiently 
powerful  to  move  without  support.  It  might,  therefore,  not  un- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


15 


reasonably  be  expected  that  after  a short  period  of  restlessness,  all 
the  potentates  of  Christendom  would  acquiesce  in  tiit  arrangements 
made  by  the  late  emperor.  But  the  selfish  rapacity  of  the  King  of 
Prussia  gave  the  signal  to  his  neighbors.  His  example  quieted  their 
sense  of  shame.  His  success  led  them  to  underrate  the  difficulty  of 
dismembering  the  Austrian  monarchy.  The  whole  world  sprang  to 
arms.  On  the  head  of  Frederick  is  a 1 the  blood  which  was  shed  m a 
war  which  raged  during  many  years  and  in  every  quarter  of  the 
globe — the  blood  of  the  column  of  Fonteuoy,  the  blood  of  the  brave 
mountaineers  who  were  slaughtered  at  Cullo.diyi.  The  evils  produced 
by  this  wickedness  were  felt  in  lands  where  the  name  of  Prussia  was 
unknown  ; and,  in  order  that  he  might  rob  a neighbor  whom  he  had 
promised  to  defend,  blade  men  fought  on  the  coast  of  Coromandel, 
and  red  men  scalped  each  other  by  the  great  lakes  of  Xorth  America. 

Silesia  had  been  occuiiied  Avithout  a battle  ; but  the  Austrian 
troops  Avere  advancing  to  the  relief  of  the  fortresses  Avhich  still  held 
out.  In  the  spring  Frederick  rejoined  his  army.  He  had  seen  little 
of  Avar,  and  had  iieA'er  commanded  any  great  body  of  men  in  the 
field.  It  is  not,  therefore,  strange  that  his  first  military  operations 
shoAved  little  of  that  skill  Avhich,  at  a later  period,  Avas  the  admira- 
tion of  Europe.  What  connoisseurs  say  of  some  pictures  painted  by 
Raphael  in  his  youth,  may  be  said  of  this  campaign.  It  AA'as  in 
Frederick’s  early  bad  manner  Fortunately  for  him,  the  generals  tc 
Avhoin  he  Avas  opposed  were  iuen  of  small  capacity.  The  discipline 
of  his  own  troops,  particularly  of  the  infantry,  Avas  unequalled  in 
that  age  ; and  some  able  and  experienced  officers  Avere  at  hand  to 
assist  him  Avith  their  advice.  Of  these,  the  most  distinguished  Avas 
Einkl-5Iarshal  Sebweriu — a braA^e  adA'entnrer  of  Pomeranian  extrac- 
tion, AvhoTTaq^w’ed  half  the  goA’ernments  in  Europe,  had  borne  the 
commissions  of  the  States-Geueral  of  Holland  and  of  the  Duke  of 
Mecklenburg,  and  fought  under  Marlborough  at  Blenheim,  and  had 
been  Avith  Charles  the  TAA^elfth  at  Bendei^ — 

Frederick’s  first  battle  Avas  fought  at  (MolAffic^  and  never  did  the 
career  of  a great  commander  open  in  a more  inauspicious  manner. 
His  army  aa-;is  victorious.  Not  only,  however,  did  he  not  establish 
his  title  to  the  character  of  an  able  general,  but  he  was  so  unfortu- 
nate as  to  make  it  doubtful  A'.dietlier  he  possessed  the  A’ulgar  courage 
of  a soldier.  The  caA^alry  Avhich  he  commanded  in  person  was  put 
to  flight.  Unaccustomed  to  the  ttimult  and  carnage  of  a field  of  bat- 
tlej'helost  his  self-possession,  and  listened  too  readily  to  those  AA’hc 
urged  him  to  saA'e  himself.  His  English  gray  carried  him  many 
miles  fiom  the  field,  Avhile  ScliAA^erin,  though  AA’ounded  in  tAvo  places, 
manfully  upheld  the  day.  The  skill  of  the  old  Field-Marshal  and 
the  steadiness  of  the  Prussian  battalions  preA-ailed  ; and  the  Austrian 
army  Avas  driven  from  the  field  AAuth  the  loss  of  eight  thousand  men. 

The  neAvs  Avas  carried  late  at  night  to  a mill  in  AA'hich  the  king  had 
taken  shelter.  It  gave  him  a bitter  pang.  He  AA'as  .successful  : but 


16 


FREDERICK  THE  UREAT. 


he  owed  his  success  to  dispositions  which  others  had  made,  and  to  the 
valor  of  men  wlio  had  fought  while  he  was  flying.  So  unpromising 
was  the  first  appearance  of  the  greatest  warrior  of  that  age  ! 

The  battle  of  Molwitz  was  the  signal  for  a general  explosion 
throughout  Europe.  .Bavaria  took  up  arms.  France,  not  yet  declar- 
ing herself  a jjrincipal  in  the  war,  took  part  in  it  as  an  ally  of  Bava- 
ria. The  two  great  state.smen  to  whom  mankind  had  owed  many 
years  of  tranquillity  disappeared  about  this  time  from  the  scene  ; 
hut  not  till  they  had  both  been  guilty  of  the  weakness  of  sacrificing 
their  sense  of  justice  and  their  love  of  peace  in  the  vain  hope  of  pre- 
serving their  power.  Fleury,  sinking  under  age  and  infinnity,  wa3 
borne  down  by  the  impetuosity  of  Belle  Isle.  Walpole  retired  from 
the  service  of  his  ungrateful  country  to  his  woods  and  paintings  at 
Houghton,  and  his  power  devolved  on  the  daring  and  eccentric  Car- 
teret. As  were  the  ministers,  so  were  the  nations.  Thirty  yearn 
during  which  Europe  had,  with  few  interruptions,  enjoyed  repose, 
had  prepared  the  public  mind  for  great  military  efforts.  A new  gen 
eration  had  grown  up,  which  could  not  remember  the  siege  of  Turin 
or  the  slaughter  of  Malplaquet  ; which  knew  war  by  nothhig  but  its 
trophies  ; ami  which,  while  it  looked  with  pride  on  the  tapestries  at 
Blenheim,  or  the  .statue  in  the  “ Place  of  Victories,”  little  thought  liy 
what  privations,  by  what  waste  of  private  fortunes,  by  how  many 
bitter  tears,  conquests  must  be  purchased. 

For  a time  fortune  seemed  adverse  to  the  Queen  of  Hungary. 
Frederick  invaded  Moravia.  The  French  and  Bavarians  penetrated 
into  Bohemia,  and  were  there  joined  by  the  Saxons.  Prague  was 
taken.  The  Elector  of  Bavaria  was  raised  by  the  suffragi's  of  his 
colleagues  to  the  Imperial  throne — a throne  which  the  practice  of 
centuries  had  almost  entitled  the  house  of  Austria  to  regard  as  an 
hereditary  possession. 

Yet  was  the  spirit  of  the  haughty  daughter  of  the  Cmsars  unbroken. 
Hungary  was  still  hers  by  an  umiuestiouable  title  ; and  although  her 
ancestors  had  found  Hungary  the  most  mutinous  of  all  their  king- 
’donis,  she  resolved  to  trust  herself  to  the  fidelity  of  a people,  rude 
indeed,  turbulent,  and  impatient  of  o]ipression,  but  brave,  generous, 
and  simple-hearted.  In  the  midst  of  distress  and  peril  she  had  given 
birth  to  a son,  afterwards  the  Emperor  Joseph  the  Second.  Scarcely 
had  she  risen  from  her  couch,  when  she  hastened  to  Pressburg. 
There,  in  the  sight  of  an  innumerable  multitude,  she  was  crowned 
with  the  crown  and  robed  with  the  robe  of  St.  Stephen.  Xo  specta- 
tor could  restrain  his  tears  when  the  beautiful  young  mother,  still 
■weak  from  child-bearing,  rode,  after  the  fashion  of  her  fathers,  iqi 
the  IMount  of  Defiance,  unsheathed  the  ancient  sword  of  state,  shook 
it  towards  north  and  south,  east  and  west,  and,  A\uth  a glo^v  on  her 
pale  face,  challenged  the  four  corners  of  the  world  to  dispute  her 
rights  and  those  of  her  boy.  At  the  first  sitting  of  the  Diet  she  ap- 
peared clad  in  deep  mourning  for  her  father,  and  in  pathetic  and  dig- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT, 


II 


Qified  words  implored  lier  people  to  support  lier  just  cause.  Mag 
nate.s  and  deputies  sprang  up,  half  drew  their  sabres,  and  with  eagei 
voices  vowed  to  stand  by.  her  witli  their  lives  and  fortunes.  Till  then 
her  firmness  had  never  once  forsaken  her  before  the  i)ublic  eye,  but 
at  that  shout  she  sank  down  upon  her  throne,  and  we])t  aloud.  StiK 
more  touching  Avas  the  sight  when,  a feAv  days  later,  she  came  before 
the  Estates  of  her  realm,  and  held  up  before  them  the  little  Archduke 
in  her  arms.  Then  it  was  that  the  enthusiasm  of  Hungary  broke 
forth  into  that  war-cry  Avhich  soon  resounded  throughout  Europe, 
“ Let  us  die  for  our  King,  IMaria  Theresa  1 ” 

In  the  mean  time,  Frederick  was  meditating  a change  of  policy. 
He  had  no  Avish  to  raise  France  to  supreme  poAA-^er  on  the  continent, 
at  the  expense  of  the  house  of  Ilapsburg.  His  first  object  Avas  to 
rob  the  Queen  of  Hungary.  H.s  second  Avas  that,  if  possible,  no- 
body should  rob  her  but  himself.  He  had  entered  into  engagements 
Avith  the  poAvers  leagued  agaiust  Austria ; but  these  engagements 
AA^ere  in  his  estimation  of  no  more  force  than  the  guarantee  formerly 
giA'en  to  the  “ Pragmatic  Sanction.”  His  game  was  noAvto  secure  his 
share  of  the  plunder  by  betraying  las  accomplices.  Maria  Theresa 
was  little  inclined  to  listen  to  any  such  compromise  ; Init  the  English 
government  rei>resented  to  her  so  strongly  the  necessity  of  buying  off 
so  formidable  an  enemy  as  Frederick,  that  she  agreed  to  negotiate. 
The  negotiation  Avould  not,  hoAvever,  liaA'e  ended  in  a treaty,  had  not 
the  arms  of  Frederick  been  croAvned  Avith  a second  A’ictory.  Prince 
Charles  of  Lorraine,  brother-in-hiAv  to  Maria  Theresa,  a bold  and 
-active  thou.o-h  unfortunate  general,  gaA'e  battle  to  the  Prussians  at 
/ Chotusitz,  land  Avas  defeated.  The  king  Avas  still  only  a learner  (>f 
tlie  military  art.  He  acknoAvledged,  at  a later  period,  that  his  suo- 
cess  on  this  occasion  AA'as  to  be  attributed,  not  at  all  to  his  OAvn  gen 
eralship.  but  solely  to  the  valor  and  steadiness  of  his  troops.  He 
completely  effaced,  hoAveA’er,  by  his  courage  and  energy,  the  stain 
Avhich  Mohvitz  had  left  on  his  reputation. 

A peace,  concluded  under  the  English  mediation,  Avas  the  fruit  of 
this  battle.  Maria  Theresa  ceded  Silesia  ; Frederick  abandoned  his 
allies  ; Saxony  folloAA’ed  his  example  ; and  the  queen  AA’as  left  at  lib- 
erty to  turn  her  AA’hole  force  against  France  and  Bavaria.  She  Avas 
eA'eryAvhere  triumphant.  The  French  AA’ere  compelled  to  eA’acuate 
Bohemia,  and  Avith  difficulty  effected  their  escape.  The  Avhole  line 
of  their  retreat  might  be  tracked  by  the  corpses  of  thousands  Avho 
died  of  cold,  fatigue,  and  hunger.  Many  of  those  aa'Iio  reached  their 
country  carried  Avith  them  seeds  of  death.  Bavaria  was  overrun  by 
bands  of  ferocious  Avarriors  from  that  bloody  “ debatable  land  ” AA’hich 
lies  on  the  frontier  betAveeu  Christendom  and  Islam.  The  terrible 
names  of  the  Pandoor,  the  Croat,  and  the  Hussar  then  first  became 
familiar  to  Avestern  Europe.  The  unfortunate  Charles  of  Bavaria, 
vanquished  by  Austria,  betrayed  liy  Prus.sia,  driA’en  from  his  heredi- 
tarj’  states,  and  neglected  by  his  allies,  Avas  hurried  by  shame  and 


18 


FREDEEICK  THE  GREAT, 


remorse  to  an  untimely  end.  An  English  anny  appeared  in  the  heart 
of  Germany,  and  defeated  the  French  at  Dettingen.  T’he  Au.strian 
captains  already  began  to  tallr  of  completing  the  work  of  Marl1x>r- 
ough  and  Eugene,  and  of  compelling  France  to  relinquish  Alsace  ano 
the  Three  Bishoprics. 

The  court  of  Versailles,  in  this  peril,  looked  to  Frederick  for  help. 
He  had  been  guilty  of  two  great  treasons,  perhaps  he  might  l)e  in 
duced  to  commit  a third.  Tlie  Duchess  of  Chateauroux  then  held  the 
chief  influence  over  the  feeble  Louis.  She  determined  to  send  an 
agent  to  Berlin,  and  Voltaire  was  selected  for  the  mission.  He 
eagerly  undertook  the  task  ; for,  while  his  literary  fame  filled  all 
Europe,  he  Avas  troubled  with  a childish  craving  for  political  distinc- 
/ion.  He  was  vain,  and  not  without  reason,  of  his  address,  and 
of  his  insinuating  eloquence  ; and  he  flattered  himself  that  he  pos- 
se.ssed  boundless  influence  over  the  King  of  Prussia.  The  truth  w.us 
that  he  knerv,  as  yet,  only  one  corner  of  Frederick’s  character.  Jlo 
was  well  acquainted  with  all  the  petty  vanities  and  affectations  of  the 
poetaster  ; but  was  not  arvare  that  these  foibles  rvere  united  rvith  all 
the  talents  and  vices  which  lead  to  success  in  active  life  ; and  that 
the  unlucky  A’ersifier  who  bored  him  with  reams  of  middling  Alexan- 
drians, was  the  most  vigilant,  suspicion  and  severe  of  politicians. 

Voltaire  rvas  received  with  every  raark  of  respect  and  friendship, 
was  lodged  in  the  palace,  and  had  a seat  daily  at  the  roya,  table. 
The  negotiation  rvas  of  an  extraordinary  description.  Nothing  can 
be  conceived  nrore  whimsical  than  the  conferences  which  took  place 
betAveen  the  first  literary  man  and  the  first  practical  man  of  the  age, 
whom  a strange  Aveakness  had  induced  to  exchange  their  parts.  Tlie 
great  poet  Avould  talk  of  nothing  but  treaties  and  guarantees,  and  the 
great  king  of  nothing  but  metaphors  and  rhymes.  On  one  occasion 
Voltaire  put  into  his  Majesty’s  hand  a paper  on  the  state  of  Europe, 
and  receiA’ed  it  l/ack  Avith  verses  scraAvled  on  the  margin.  In  secret 
they  both  laughed  at  each  other.  Voltaire  did  not  spare  the  king’s 
poems ; and  the  king  has  left  on  record  his  opinion  of  Voltaire’s 
diplomacy.  “He  lurd  no  credential.s,”  says  Frederick,  “and  the 
Avhole  mission  Avas  a joke,  a mere  farce.” 

But  Avhat  the  influence  of  Voltaire  could  not  effect,  the  rapid  pro- 
gress of  the  Austrian  arms  effected.  If  it  should  be  in  the  poAver  of 
Maria  Theresa  and  George  the  Second  to  dictate  terms  of  peace  to 
France,  AAdiat  chance  was  there  that  Prussia  Avould  long  retain  Sile- 
sia? Frederick’s  conscience  told  him  that  he  h.ad  acted  perfidiously 
and  inhumanly  toAA'ards  the  Queen  of  Hungary.  That  her  re.sentment 
was  strong  she  had  giA’en  ample  proof,  and  of  her  respect  for  treaties 
he  judged  by  his  oaaui.  Gnarantee.s  be  said.  A\-ere _filigree,  pretty  to 
look  aL  but  foe  britti&.tcLheaj  the  slightest  pressure.  He  tlidught  it 
liis  safest  course  to  ally  himself  closely'to  France,  and  again  to  attack 
the  Empress  Queen.  Accordingly,  in  the  autumn  of  17-14,  AAUthout 
notice,  without  any  decent  pretext,  he  recommenced  hostilities. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


19 


marched  through  the  electorate  of  Saxony  wthout  troubling  himself 
about  the  perniission  of  the  Elector,  invaded  Bohemia,  took  Pragyie, 
and  even  menaced  Vienna. 

It  was  now  that,  for  the  first  time,  he  experienced  the  inconsist- 
ency of  fortune.  An  .\ustrain  army  under  Charles  of  Lorraine 
threatened  his  communications  with  Silesia.  Saxony  was  all  in  arms 
behind  him.  He  found  it  necessary  to  save  himself  by  a retreat.  He 
afterwards  owned  that  his  failure  was  the  natural  effect  of  his  own 
blunders.  No  general,  he  said,  had  ever  committed  greater  faults. 
It  must  be  added,  that  to  the  reverees  of  this  campaign  he  always  as- 
cribed his  subseipient  successes. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  difficulty  and  disgrace  that  he  caught  the 
first  clear  glimpse  of  the  principles  of  the  military  art. 

The  memorable  year  of  1745  followed.  The  war  raged  by  sea  and 
Land  in  Italy,  in  Germany,  and  in  Flanders  ; and  even  England, 
after  many  years  of  iirofound  internal  quiet,  saw,  for  the  last  time, 
hostile  armies  set  in  battle  array  against  each  other.  This  year  is 
memorable  in  the  life  of  Frederick,  as  the  date  at  which  his  noviciate 
in  the  art  of  war  may  be  said  to  have  terminated.  There  have  been 
great  captains  whose  precocious  and  self-taught  military  skill  resem 
l)le7r~intuitiqri.~  Cohde,  Clivl-,  and  Najioleon  are  examples.  But 
iMwIerick'  was  not  one  of  these  brilliant  portents.  His  jiToficiency  in 
mil  itary  science  was  simply  the  proficiency  which  a man  of  vigorou? 
faculties  mak^_ in  any  _science  to  whicli  be  ,ap]dies  bis  mind  \tith 
earnestness  and  industry.  It  was  at^  Holienfreidberg~yiiat  he  firs/ 
jiroved  how  much  he  had  profited  by  his  errol'4  hlUl  By  their  conse 
qiiences.  His  victory  on  that  day  was  chiefly  due  to  his  skilful  disposi 
tions,  and  convinced  Europe  that  the  prince  wiio^  a few  years  before 
had  stood  aghast  in  the  rout  at  !Molwifz,  had  attained  in  the  military 
art  a mastery  equalled  by  none  of  his  contemporaries,  or  equalled  bj 
Saxe  alone.  The  victory  of  Hohenfriedberg  was  speedily  followerf 
by  that  of  Sorr. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  arms  of  France  had  been  victorious  in  th« 
Low  Countries.  Frederick  had  no  longer  reason  to  fear  that  Maria 
'^heresa  would  be  able  to  give  law  to  Europe,  and  he  began  to  medi 
cate  a fourth  breach  of  his  engagements.  The  court  of  Versailles  was 
alanued  and  mortified.  A letter  of  earnest  expostulation,  in  the 
handwriting  of  Louis,  was  sent  to  Berlin  ; but  in  vain.  In  the 
autumn  of  1745,  Frederick  made  jieace  with  England,  and,  before  the 
close  of  the  year,  with  Austria  also.  The  pretensions  of  Charles  of 
Bavaria  could  present  no  obstacle  to  an  accommodation.  That  un- 
happy prince  was  no  more  : and  Francis  of  Lorraine,  the  husband  of 
Maria  Theresa,  was  raised,  with  the  general  consent  of  the  Germania 
body,  to  the  Imperial  throne. 


Prussia  was  again  at  peace  ; but  the  European  war  lasted  till,  ii 
the  year  1748,  it  was  terminated  by  the  treaty  of  Aix-la-Cliapelle 
Of  all  the  powers  that  had  taken  part  in  it,  the  only  gainer  was  Fred 


20 


F’UEDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


°rick.  Not  only  liad  he  added  to  Ins  patrimony  the  fine  provtnfie  ol 
^ile.sia  ; he  had,  by  his  unprincipled  dexterity,  succeeded  so  rvell  in 
alternately  depressing  the  scale  of  Austria  and  that  of  France,  that 
lie  was  generally  regarded  as  holding  the  balance  of  Europe — a high 
dignity  for  one  who  ranked  lowest  among  kings,  and  whose  great- 
grandfather  had  been  no  more  than  a margrave.  By  the  puVilic  the 
Ring  of  Prussia  was  considered  as  a politician  destitute  alike  of 
morality  and  decency,  insatiably  rapacious,  and  shamelessly  false  ; 
nor  was  the  public  much  in  the  wrong.  He  was  at  the  .same  time 
allowed  to  be  a man  of  parts — a rising  general,  a .shrewd  negotiator 
and  administrator.  Those  qualities,  wherein  he  surpassed  all  man- 
kind, were  as  yet  unknown  to  others  or  to  himself  ; for  they  were 
qualities  which  shine  out  only  on  a dark  ground.  His  career  had 
hitherto,  with  little  interruption,  been  prosperous  ; and  it  was  only 
in  adversity,  in  adversity  which  seemed  without  hope  or  resource,  in 
adversity  that  would  have  overwhelmed  even  men  celebrated  for 
stregth  of  mind,  that  his  real  greatness  could  be  shown. 

He  had  from  the  commencement  of  his  reign  applied  himself  to 
public  business  after  a fashion  unknown  among  kings  Louis  the 
XlV..  indeed,  had  been  his  own  prime  minister,  and  had  exercised  a 
general  superintendence  over  all  the  departments  of  the  government  ; 
but  this  was  not  sufficient  for  F rederick.  He  was  not  content  with 
being  his  own  prime  minister — he  would  be  his  own  sole  minister. 
Under  him  there  was  no  room,  not  merely  for  ^ Richelieu  or  a Ma- 
zarin,  but  for  a Colbert,  a Louvois,  or  a Torcy/  A love  of  labor  for 
its  own  sake,  a restless  and  insatiable  longing  toWctate,  to  intermed- 
dle, to  make  his  power  felt,  a profound  scorn  and  distrust  of  bis  fel- 
low-creatures, indisposed  him  to  counsel,  to  confide  important 
secrets,  to  delegate  ample  power^fThe  highest  functionaries  under 
his  government  were  mere  clerks,  Sind  were  not  so  tnuch  trusted  by 
him  as  valuable  clerks  are  often  trusted  by  the  heads  of  departments. 
He 3vas  his  oum-treasurer.  Jiia.  own  commander-in-chief,  hisownin- 
tendant  of  public  works  ; his  own  minister  for  trade  and  justice,  for 
home  affairs  and  fmeign  affairs  V his  own  master  of  the  horse,  .steward 
and  bfiamberlain. ^Matters  of  which  no  chief  of  an  office  in  any  other 
government  would  ever  hear,  .were,  in  this  singular  monarchy,  de- 
cided by  the  king  in  person,  (if  a traveller  wislied  for  a goo,'  nlace 
to  see  a retiew,  he  had  to  rvrite  to  Frederick,  and  rceived  next  day, 
from  a rojail  messenger,  Frederick’s  answer  signed  by  Frederick’s 
own  hand.'p  This  was  an  extravagant,  a morbid  activity.  The  pub- 
lic businiess  would  assuredly  have  been  better  done  if  each  depart- 
ment h d been  put  under  a man  of  talents  and  integrity,  and  if  the 
king  had  contented  himself  vith  a general  control.  In  this  manner 
the  advantages  which  belong  to  unity  of  design,  and  the  advantages 
which  belong  to  the  division  of  labor,  would  have  been  to  a great  ex- 
tent combined.  But  such  a system  would  not  have  suited  the  pecu- 
liar temper  of  Frederick.  He  could  tolerate  no  will,  no  reason  in  tha 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


9] 


state  save  his  otto.  He  wished  for  no  abler  assistance  than  that  of 
penmen  who  had  jnst  understanding  enough  to  translate,  to  trans- 
cribe, to  make  out  his  scrawls,  and  to  put  his  concise  Yes  and  No  into 
an  otiicial  form.  Of  the  higher  intellectual  faculties,  there  is  as  much 
in  a coi)ying  machine  or  a lithographic  press  as  he  re(piired  from  a 
secretary  of  the  cabinet. 

His  own  exertions  were  such  as  were  hardly  to  be  expected  from  a 
liuman  body  or  a human  mind.  At  Potsdam,  his  ordinary  residence, 
he  rose  at  three  in  summer  and  four  in_winter.  A page  soon  ap- 
peared,  with  a lai-ge  basketful  of  all  the  lettei’s  which  had  arrived  for 
the  king  bj'  the  last  courier — vlispatches  from  ambassadors,  reports 
from  oiiicers  of  revenue,  ]dans  of  buildings,  proposals  for  draining 
marshes,  complaints  from  persons  who  thought  themselves  aggrieved, 
applications  from  persons  wdio  vvanted  titles,  military  commissions, 
and  civil  situations.  He  examined  the  seals  with  a keen  eye  ; for  he 
was  never  for  a moment  tree  Irom  the  suspicion  that  some  fraiul 
might  l)e  practised  on  him.  Then  he  read  the  letters,  divided  them 
into  several  packets,  and  signified  his  pleasure,  generally  by  a mark, 
often  by  two  or  three  words,  now  and  and  tlien  by  some  cutting 
epigram.  By  eight  he  had  generally  finished  this  part  of  his  task. 
Tlie  adjutant-genera!  was  then  in  attendance,  and  received  instruc 
tions  for  the  day  as  to  all  the  military  arrangi  ments  of  the  kingdom. 
Then  he  king  went  !o  review  his  guards,  not  as  kings  ordinaiTiy  re- 
view their  guards,  but  with  the  minute  attention  and  severity  <jf  an 
old  drill-sergeant.  In  the  mean  time  the  four  cabinet  secretaries  had 
been  employed  in  answering  the  letters  on  which  the  king  had  that 
morning  signified  his  will.  These  unhappy  men  were  forced  to  work 
all  the  year  round  like  negro  slaves  in  the  time  of  the  sugar-crop. 
They  never  had  a holiday.  They  never  knew  what  it  was  to  dine.  It 
was  necessary  that,  before  they  stirred,  they  should  finish  the  whole 
of  their  work.  The  king,  always  on  his  guard  against  treachery, 
took  from  the  hea)i  a handful  at  random,  and  looked  into  them  to  see 
whether  his  instructions  had  been  exactly  followed.  This  was  no 
bad  securit,v  against  fo.ul  play  on  the  part  of  the  secretaries  ; for  if 
one  of  them  were  detected  in  a trick,  lie  might  think  himself  for- 
tunate if  he  escaped  with  five  years’  imprisonment  in  a dungeon. 
Frederick  then  signed  the  replies,  and  all  were  sent  off  the  same 
evening. 

The  general  principles  upon  which  this  strange  government  was 
conducted  deserve  attention.  The  policy  of  Frederick  was  essentially 
(the  same  as  his  father’s  ? but  Frederick,  while  he  carried  that  policy 
to  lengths  to  which  his  father  never  thought  of  carrying  it,  cleared  it 
at  the  same  time  from  the  absurdities  with  which  his  father  had  en- 
cumbered it.  The  king’s  first  object  was  to  have  a great,  efficient, 
and  well-trained  army.  He  had  a kingdom  which  in  extent  and 
population  was  hardly  in  the  second  rank  of  European  powers  ; and 
yet  he  aspired  to  a jilace  not  inferior  to  that  of  the  sovereigns  of  Eng 


F’REDERiCK  THE  GREAT. 


S3 

land,  France,  and  Austria.  For  tliat  end  it  was  necessary  tliat  Prus- 
sia should  be  all  sting.  Louis  XV.,  with  five  times  as  many  subjects 
as  Frederick,  and  more  tlian  five  times  as  large  a revenue,  had  not  a 
more  formidable  army.  The  proportion  which  the  soldiers  in  Prus- 
sia bore  to  the  people  seems  hardly  credible.  Of  the  males  in  the 
vigor  of  life,  a seventh  part  were  probably  under  anns  ; and  this 
great  force  had,  by  drilling,  by  reviewing,  and  by  the  unsparing  use 
of  cane  and  scourge,  been  taught  to  perform  all  evolutions  with  a 
rapidity  and  a precision  which  would  have  astonished  Villars  or 
Eugene.  The  elevated  feelings  which  are  nece.ssary  fo  the  best  kind 
of  army  were  then  wanting  to  the  Prussian  service.^In  those  ranks 
were  not  found  the  religious  and  political  enthusiasniniiich  inspired 
the  pikemen  of  Cromwell — the  patriotic  ardor,  the  thirst  of  glory,  the 
devotion  to  a great  leader,  which  inflamed  the  Old  Guard  of  Napo- 
leon. But  in  all  the  mechanical  parts  of  the  military  calling,  the 
Prussians  were  as  superior  to  the  English  and  French  troops  of  that 
day  as  the  English  and  French  troops  to  a rustic  inalitia.x 

Though  the  pay  of  the  Prussian  soldier  was  small,  though  every 
rix  dollar  of  extraordinary  charge  was  scrutinized  by  Frederick  with 
a vigilance  and  suspicion  such  as  Mr.  Joseph  Hume  never  brought  to 
the  examination  of  an  aimj'-estimate,  the  expense  of  such  an  e.stab- 
lishment  was,  for  the  means  of  the  country,  enonnous.  In  order  that 
it  might  not  be  utterly  ruinous,  it  was  necessary  that  every  other  ex- 
pense should  be  cut  dornv  to  the  lowest  possible  point.  Accordingly, 
Frederick,  though  his  dominions  bordered  on  the  sea,  had  no  na^•y. 
He  neither  had  nor  wished  to  have  colonies.  His  judges,  his  fiscal 
officers,  were  meanly  paid.  His  ministers  at  foreigp  courts  walked 
on  foot,  or  drove  shabby  old  carriages  till  the  axeltrees  gave  way. 
Even  to  his  highest  diplomatic  agents,  who  resided  at  London  and 
Paris,  he  allowed  less  than  a thousand  pounds  sterling  a year.  The 
royal  household  was  managed  vith  a frugality  unusual  in  the  estab- 
lishments of  opulent  subjects — unexampled  in  any  other  palace. 
The  king  loved  good  eating  and  drinking,  and  during  great  part  of 
his  life  took  pleasure  in  seeing  his  table  surrounded  by  gue.sts  ; yet 
the  whole  charge  of  his  kitchen  was  brought  within  the  sum  of  two 
thousand  pounds  sterling  a year.  He  examined  every  extraordinary 
item  with  a care  which  might  be  thought  to  suit  the  mistress  of  a 
boarding-house  better  than  a great  prince.  When  more  than  four 
rix  dollars  were  asked  of  him  for  a hundred  oysters,  he  stormed  as  if 
he  had  heard  that  one  of  his  generals  had  sold  a fortress  to  the  Em 
press-Queen.  Not  a bottle  of  champagne  was  uncorked  without  his, 
express  order.  The  game  of  the  royal  parks  and  forests,  a serious 
head  of  expenditure  in  most  kingdoms,  was  to  him  a source  of  profit. 
The  whole  was  farmed  out  ; and  though  the  farmers  were  almost 
ruined  by  their  contract,  the  king  would  grant  them  no  ren’iesion. 
His  wardrobe  consisted  of  one  fine  gala  dress,  which  lasted  him  all 
his  life  ; of  two  or  three  old  coats  fit  for  Monmouth  street,  of  yellow 


FRET)ERirK  THE  GREAT. 


23 


waistcoatf?  soilod  witli  snuff,  and  of  huge  Iwots  embrowned  by  time. 
One  taste  alone  sometimes  allured  him  beyond  the  limits  of  parsi- 
mony, nay,  even  beyond  the  limits  of  prudence — the  taste  for  build- 
ing. In  all  other  tilings  bis  economy  was  such  as  we  might  can  by 
a liarsber  name,  if  we  did  not  reflect  that  bis  funds  were  drawn  from 
a heavily  taxed  peojile,  and  that  it  was  impossible  for  liim  without 
excessive  tyranny  to  keep  up  at  once  a formidable  army  and  a splen- 
did court. 

Considered  as  an  administrator,  Frederick  bad  undoubtedly  many 
titles  to  iiraise.  Order  was  .strictly  maintained  throughout  bis  do- 
minions. Property  was  secure.  A great  liberty  of  speaking  and  of 
writing  was  allowed.  Confident  in  the  irresistible  strength  derived 
from  a great  army,  the  king  looked  down  on  malcontents  and  libellers 
with  a wise  disdain,  and  gave  little  encouragement  to  spies  and  in- 
f.irmers.  When  be  was  told  of  the  disaffection  of  one  of  bis  sub- 
jects, lie  mm’ely  asked,  “ How  many  thousand  men  can  be  bring  into 
the  field  ?”  kHIe  once  saw  a crowd  staring  at  something  on  a ivall. 
He  rode  up,  and  found  that  the  object  of  curiosity  was  a scurrilous 
placard  against  himself.  The  placard  bad  been  po.sted  ujJ  so  high 
that  it  was  not  easy  to  read  it.  Frederick  ordered  bis  attendants  to 
take  it  down  and  juit  it  lower.  “ -Mv  peo]de  and  I.”  be-sald,  -ti-bave 
come  Jo  an  agreement  which  satisfies,  us  .both.  They  are  to  say  what 
they  please,  and  I am  to  do  what  I please^Jp  No  person  would  have 
dared' fo' publi.sb  in  London  satires  on  George  II.  approaching  to  the 
atrocity  of  those  satires  on  Frederick  which  the  booksellers  at  Berlin 
sold  with  impunity,  ^ne  bookseller  sent  to  the  palace  a copy  of  the 
most  stinging  lampoon  that  perhaps  was  ever  written  in  the  world, 
the  "Memoirs  of  Voltaire,”  published  by  Beaumarchais,  and  asked 
for  his  Majesty’s  orders.  " Do  not  advertise  it  in  an  offensive  manner,” 
said  theHdng  ; “but  sell  it  by  all  means.  I hope  it  will  pay  you 
well.’^^yEven  among  statesmen  accustomed  to  the  license  of  a free 
press  such  steadfastness  of  mind  as  this  is  not  very  common. 

It  is  due  also  to  the  memory  of  Frederick  to  say  that  he  earnestly 
labored  to  secure  to  his  people  the  great  blessing  f>f  cheap  and  speedy 
justice.  He  was  one  of. the  first  rulers  who  abolished  the  cruel  and 
absurd  practice  of  torture.  NO'Sentence  of  death  2>ronounced  by- the 
'ordinary  tribuhals*’vvus_execirted  wiDiout  his  sanction  ; and  his  sanc- 
tion, except  in  cases  of  murder,  was  rarely  given.  Towards  his 
troops  he  acted  in  a very  different  manner.  Military  offences  were 
punished  with  such  barbarous  scourging  that  to  be  shot  was^cohsid- 
er^  by  the  Prussian  soldier  as  a secondary  punishment.  Indeed,  the 
pidhciple  whicli  pervaded  Frederick’s  whole  policy  was  this — that  the 
more  severly  the  army  is  governed,  the  safer  it  is  to  treat  the  rest  of 
the  community  with  lenity. 

Religious  persecution  was  unknown  under  his  government — unless 
some  foolish  and  unjust  restrictions  vdiich  lay  upon  the  Jews  may  be 
regarded  as  forming  an  exception.  His  policy  \ldth  respect  to  the 


M 


predericb;  the  great. 


Catliolics  of  Silesia  presented  an  honorable  contrast  to  the  policy 
'vvhioh,  under  very  similar  circumstances,  England  long  followed 
with  respect  to  the  Catholics  of  Ireland.  Every  form  of  religion  and 
irreligion  found  an  asylum  in  his  states.  The  scoffer  whom  Parlia- 
ments of  France  had  sentenced  to  a cruel  death  was  consoled  by  a com- 
ission in  the  Prussian  service.  The  Jesuit  who  could  .show  his  face  no- 
where else — who  in  Biitain  Avas  still  subject  to  penal  laws,  Avho  was 
proscribed  by  France,  Spain,  Portugal,  and  Naples,  who  had  been 
given  up  eA^en  by  the  Vatican — found  safet)'  and  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence in  the  Prussian  dominions. 

Most  of  the  vices  of  I^ederick’s  administration  resolA-e  themselves 
into  one  Auce — the  spirit  of  meddling.  Tlie  indefatigable~activify  of 
hlsThtellect,  his  dictatorial  temper,  his  military  habits,  all  inclined 
him  to  this  great  fault.  ^le  drilled  his  people  as  he  drilled  his  grena- 
diers. Capital  and  indimry  \-  ere  diA-erted  from  their  natural  direc- 
tion by  a croAvd  of  preposterous  regulations.  There  aa'us  a inoijopoly 
of  coffee,  a monopoly  of  tobacco,  a monopoly  of  refined  .sugar.J  The 
public  money,  of  Avhich  the  king  Avas  generally  so  spariiTg,  was 
laA’ishly  spent  in  ploAving  bogs,  in  planting  inulbeiTy-tr»'es  amidst  the 
sand,  in  bringing  sheep  from  Spain  to  improve  the  Saxon  avooI.  in 
bestoAving  prizes  for  fine  yarn,  in  building  manufactories  of  porcelain, 
manufactories  of  carpets,  manufactories  of  hardware,  manufactories 
of  lace.  Neither  the  experience  of  other  rulers  nor  his  oaaui  could 
eA'er  te.ach  him  that  something  more  than  an  edict  and  a grant  of  jtub- 
lic  money  is  required  ro  create  a Lyons,  a Brussels,  or  a Birmingham. 

For  his  commercial  policy,  however,  there  i.s  some  excuse.  He  had 
on  his  side  illustrious  examples  and  popular  jrrejudice.  GrieA’ously 
as  he  erred,  he  erred  in  company  Avith  his  age.  In  other  depai-t- 
ments  his  meddling  Avas  altogether  AA-ithout  apology.  He  interfered 
Avith  the  course  of  justice  as  Avell  as  Avith  the  course  of  trade,  and  set 
up  his  OAvn  crude  notions  of  equity  against  the  laAv  as  expounded  by 
the  luianimous  A’oice  of  the  graA^e.-t  magistrate.  It  never  occurred 
to  him  that  a body  of  men  AA-hose  liA'es  av(  re  passed  in  adjudicating 
on  questions  of  ciA'il  right,  AA-ere  more  likely  to  form  correct  opinions 
on  such  questions  than  a prince  AA-hose  attention  Avas  diA-ided  betAveen 
a thousand  olijects  and  Avho  had  probably  neA'er  read  a laAv-book 
through.  The  resistance  opposed  to  him  by  the  tribunals  inflamed 
him  to  fury.  He  reviled  his  Chancellor.  He  kicked  the  shins  of  his 
Judges.  He  did  not,  it  is  true,  intend  to  act  unjustly.  He  firmly  be- 
lieved that  he  was  doing  right  and  defending  the  cause  of  the  poor 
against  the  Avealthy.  Yet  this  Avell-meant  meddling  probably  did  far 
more  harm  than  all  the  explosions  of  his  eAul  passions  during  the 
Avhole  of  his  long  reign.  \Ve  could  make  shift  to  liA’e  under  a de- 
bauchee or  a tyrant,  but  to  be  ruled  by  a busybody  is  luru’e  than  hu 
man  nafure  can  bear. 

The  same  iiassion  for  directing  and  regulating  appeared  in  every 
part  of  the  king’s  policy.  Every  lad  of  a certain  station  in  life  Avas 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


forced  to  go  to  certain  schools  within  the  Prussian  dominions.  If  a 
young  Prussian  repaired,  though  but  for  a few  weeks,  to  Leyden  or 
Gottingen  for  the  purpose  of  study,  the  offence  was  punished  with 
civil  disabilities,  and  sometimes  with  confiscation  of  property.  Q!^o- 
body  was  to  travel  without  the  royal  permission  If  the  permission 
were  granted,  the  pocket-money  of  the  tourist  was  fixed  by  royal  or 
dinances.'^  A merchant  migdit  take  with  him  two  hundred  and  fifty 
I'ix  dollars  in  gold,  a noble  was  allowed  to  take  four  hundred  ; for  it 
may  be  observed,  in  passing,  that  Fiederick  studiously  kept  up  the 
old  distinction  b(>tween  the  nobles  and  the  community.  In  specula- 
tion he  was  a French  philosopher,  but  in  action  a German  prince. 
He  talked  and  wrote  about  the  privileges  of  blood  in  the  style  of 
Bieyes  ; but  in  practice  no  chapter  in  the  empire  looked  with  a keener 
■eye  to  genealogies  and  quartcrings. 

Such  was  Frederick  the  ruler.  But  there  was  another  Frederick, 
the  Frederick  of  Rheinsijurg,  the  fiddler  and  the  flute-player,  the 
poetaster  and  metaphysician.  Amidst  the  cares  of  the  state  the  king 
had  retained  his  passion  for  music,  for  reading,  for  writing,  for  liter- 
ary society.  To  these  amusements  he  devoted  all  the  time  he  could 
snatch  from  the  business  of  war  and  government  ; and  perhaps  more 
light  is  thrown  on  his  character  by  what  passed  during  his  hours  of 
relaxation  than  by  his  battles  or  his  laws. 

It  was  the  just  boast  of  Schiller,  that  in  his  country  no  Augustus, 
no  Lorenzo,  had  watched  over  the  infancy  of  art.  The  rich  and  en- 
ergetic language  of  Luther,  driven  by  the  Latin  from  the  schools  of 
pedants,  and  by  the  French  from  the  palaces  of  kings,  had  taken 
refuge  among  the  people.  Of  the  powers  of  that  language  Frederick 
had  no  notion.  He  g uierally  siroke  of  it,  and  of  those  who  used  it, 
with  the  contempt  of  ignorance.  His  library  consisted  of  French 
books  ; at  his  table  nothing  was  heard  but  French  conversation. 

The  associates  of  his  hours  of  relaxation  were,  for  the  most  part, 
foreigners.  Britain  furnished  to  the  royal  circle  two  distinguished 
men,  born  in  the  highest  rank,  and  driven  by  the  civil  dissensions 
from  the  land  to  which,  under  happier  circumstances,  their  talents  and 
virtues  might  have  been  a source  of  strength  and  glory.  George  Keith, 
Earl  IMarischal  of  Scotland,  had  taken  arms  for  the  house  of  Stuart 
in  1715,  and  his  younger  brother  James,  then  only  seventeen  years 
old,  had  fought  gallantly  by  his  side.  When  all  was  lost  they  re- 
tired to  the  Continent,  roved  from  country  to  country,  served  under 
many  standards,  and  so  boi’e  themselves  as  to  win  the  respect  and 
good-will  of  many  who  had  no  love  for  the  Jacobite  cause.  Their 
long  wanderings  terminated  at  Porsdam  ; nor  had  Frederick  any  as- 
so  dates  who  ueserved  or  obtained  so  large  a share  of  his  esteem 
They  were  not  only  accomplished  men,  but  nobles  and  warriors, 
capable  of  serving  him  in  war  and  diplomacy,  as  well  as  of  amusing 
him  at  supper.  Alone  of  all  his  companions,  they  appear  never  to 
have  had  reason  to  complain  of  his  demeanor  towards  them.  Some 


2C> 


FEEDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


of  those  who  knew  the  palace  best  pronounced  that  the  Lord  Mari 
scha?  was  the  only  human  being  whom  Frederick  ever  really  loveii. 

Italy  sent  to  the  parties  at  Potsdam  the  ingenious  and  amiable  Al- 
garotti  and  Bastiani,  the  most  crafty,  cautious,  and  servile  of  Abbes. 
But  the  greater  part  of  the  society  which  Frederick  had  a.ssembled 
round  him  was  drawn  from  Franco.  ^laupertuis  had  acquired  some 
celebrity  by  the  journey  which  he  m ;de  to'  Lapland,  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  by  actual  measurement  the  sha]ie  of  our  planet.  He 
was  placed  in  the  chair  of  the  Academy  of  Berlin,  a humble  imitation 
of  the  renowned  Academy  of  Paris.  Baculard  D’Arnaud,  a young 
]ioet,  who  was  thougiit  to  have  given  promise  of  great  things,  had 
been  induced  to  quit  the  country  and  to  re.side  at  the  Prussian  court. 
The  Marquess  D’Argens  was  among  the  king’s  favorite  companions, 
on  account,  it  would  seem,  of  the  strong  opposition  between  their 
characters.  The  pai  ts  of  D’ Argeus  were  good  and  his  manners  those 
frf  a finished  French  gentleman  ; but  his  whole  soul  was  dissolved  in 
sloth,  timidity,  and  self-indulgence.  His  was  one  of  that  abject  class 
of  minds  which  are  superstitious  without  being  religious.  Hating 
Christianity  with  a rancour  which  made  him  inca])able  of  rational 
inquiry,  unable  to  see  in  the  hannony  and  beauty  of  the  universe  the 
traces  of  divine  p<jwer  and  ■«'isdoni,  he  was  the  slave  of  dreams  and 
omens — would  not  sit  down  to  the  table  with  thirteen  in  company, 
turned  pale  if  the  salt  fell  towards  him,  begged  his  guests  not  to 
cross  their  knives  and  forks  on  their  plates,  and  would  not  for  the 
world  commence  a journey  on  Friday.  His  health  was  a subject  of 
constant  anxiety  to  him.  Whenever  his  head  ached  or  his  pulse  beat 
quick,  his  dastardly  fears  and  eifeminate  precautions  were  the  jest  of 
all  Berlin.  All  this  suited  the  king’s  purpose  admirably.  He  wanted 
somebody  by  whom  he  might  be  amused,  and  whom  he  might  de- 
spi.se.  When  he  wished  to  pass  half  an  hour  in  easy,  polished  con- 
versation, P’Argens  was  an  excellent  companion  ; when  he  wanted  to 
vent  his  spleen  and  contempt,  D’Argeus  was  an  excellent  butt.  M ith 
these  associates  and  others  of  the  same  class,  Frederick  loved  to 
spend  the  time  which  he  could  steal  from  pitblic  cares.  He  wished 
his  supper-parties  to  be  gay  and  easy  : and  invited  his  guests  to  lay 
aside  all  restraint,  and  to  forget  that  he  was  at  the  head  of  a hundred 
and  sixty  thousand  soldiers,  and  was  absolute  master  of  the  life  and 
liberty  of  all  who  sat  at  meat  with  him.  There  was  therefore  at 
these  meetings  the  outward  show  of  ease.  Tbe  I'it  and  learning  of 
the  company  were  ostentatiously  displayed.  The  discussions  on  his- 
tory and  literature  were  often  highh'  interesting.  But  the  absurdity 
of  all  the  religions  known  among  men  was  the  chief  topic  of  conver- 
sation : and  the  audacity  with  which  doctrines  and  names  venerated 
throughout  Christendom  were  treated  on  these  occasions,  startled 
even  persons  accustomed  to  the  society  of  French  and  English  free- 
thinkers. But  real  liberty  or  real  affection  was  in  this  brilliant  so- 
ciety not  to  be  .ound.  Absolute  kings  seldom  have  friends:  and 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


27 


Frederick’s  faults  were  fiucli.  as,  evea  wkere  ])erfect  equality  exists, 
make  friendship  exceedingly  precarious.  He  had,  indeed,  many 
qualities  which  on  the  first  acquaintance  were  captivating.  His 
conversation  was  lively,  his  manners  to  those  whom  he  desired 
to  please  were  even  caressing.  Ko  man  could  chatter  with  more 
dehcacy.  No  man  succeede<l  more  completely  in  inspiring  those 
who  approached  him  with  vague  hopes  of  some  great  advantage  from 
his  kindness.  But  under  this  fair  exterior  he  was  a tyrant — suspi- 
cious, dis  Gainful,  and  malevolent.  He  had  one  taste  which  may  be 
pardoned  in  a hoy,  hut  which,  when  hahitually  and  deliberately  in- 
dulged in  a man  of  mature  age  and  strong  understanding,  is  almost 
invariably  the  sign  of  a had  heart. — a.  taste  f or . seve^  pra_ctical  jokes. 
If  a friend  of  the  king  was  fond  of  dress,  oil  was  flung  over  his  rich- 
est suit.  If  he  was  fond  of  money,  some  pranlc  was  invented  to  make 
him  disburse  more  than  he  could  spare.  If  he  was  hypochondriacal, 
he  was  made  to  believe  that  he  had  the  dropsy.  If  he  particularly 
set  his  heart  on  visiting  a place,  a letter  was  forged  to  frighten  him 
from  going  thither.  The.se  things,  it  may  bo  said,  are  trifles.  They 
are  so  ; ljut  they  are  indi  ations  not  to  be  mist  ken  of  a nature  to 
which  the  sight  of  human  suffering  and  human  degradation  is  an 
agreeable  excitement. 

Frederick  had  a keen  eye  for  the  foibles  of  others,  and  loved  to 
communicate  his  discoveries.  He  had  some  talent  for  sarcasm,  and 
considerable  skill  in  detecting  the  sore  places  wl  ere  sarcasm  would 
be  most  actually  felt.  His  vanity,  as  well  as  his  malignity,  found 
gratification  in  the  vexation  and  confusion  of  those  who  smarted  un- 
der his  caustic  jests.  Yet  in  truth  his  success  on  these  occasions  be- 
longed quite  as  much  to  the  king  as  to  the  wit.  AVe  read  that  Corn- 
modus  descended,  sword  in  hand,  into  the  arena  agiunst  a wretched 
gladiator,  armed  only  with  a foil  of  lead,  and,  after  shedding  the 
blood  of  the  helpless  victim,  .struck  medals  to  commemorate  the  in- 
glorious victory.  The  triumphs  of  Frederick  in  the  war  of  rapartee 
were  much  of  the  same  kind.  How  to  deal  with  him  was  the  most 
puzzling  of  ([uestions.  To  appear  con.strained  in  his  presence  was  to 
disobey  his  commands  and  to  sjioil  his  amusement.  Yet  if  his  asso- 
ciates were  enticed  by  his  graciousness  to  indulge  in  the  familiarity  of 
a cordial  intimacy,  he  was  cei'tain  to  make  them  repent  of  their  pre- 
sumption by  some  cruel  humiliation.  To  resent  his  affronts  was  per- 
ilous ; yet  not  to  resent  them  was  to  deserve  and  to  invite  them.  In 
his  view,  those  who  mutinied  were  insolent  and  ungrateful ; those 
who  submitted  were  curs  made  to  receive  bones  and  kickings  with  the 
same  fawning  ]iatience.  It  is,  indeed,  difficult  to  conceive  how  any 
thing  short  of  the  rage  of  hunger  should  have  induced  men  to  bear 
the  misery  of  being  the  associates  of  the  Great  King.  It  wa.s  no  lu- 
crative post.  His  Majesty  was  as  severe  and  economical  in  his  friend 
ships  as  in  the  other  charges  of  his  establishment,  and  as  unlikely  to 
give  a rix  dollar  too  much  for  his  guests  as  for  his  dinners.  The  sum 


28 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


which  lie  allowed  to  a poet  or  a philosopher  was  the  very  .smallest 
sum  for  which  such  poet  or  philosopher  could  he  induced  to  sell  him 
self  iuto  slavery ; and  the  bondsman  might  thhik  himself  fortunate 
if  what  had  been  so  grudgmgly  given  was  not,  after  years  of  suffer- 
ing, rudely  and  arhitrarily  withdrawn. 

Potsdam  was,  in  truth,  what  it  was  called  by  one  of  its  most  illus- 
trious inmates,  the  Palace  of  Alcina.  At  the  first  glance  it  seemed  to 
he  a delightful  sijot,  where  every  intellectual  and  jjhysical  enjoyment 
awaited  the  happy  adventurer.  Every  new  comer  was  received  with 
eager  hospitality,  intoxicated  with  flattery,  encouraged  to  expect  pros- 
perity and  greatness.  It  was  in  vain  that  a long  succession  of  favor- 
ites who  had  entered  that  abode  with  delight  and  hope,  and  who,  after 
a short  term  of  delusive  happiness,  had  been  doomel  to  expiate  their 
folly  by  years  ( f wretchedness  and  degradation,  raise  their  voices  to 
warn  the  aspirant  who  approached  the  charmed  threshold.  Swnehad 
wisdom  enough  to  discover  the  truth  early  and  spirit  enough  t(j  fly 
without  looking  back  ; others  lingered  on  to  a cheerless  and  unhon- 
ored old  age.  ^^'e  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  po  rest  author 
of  that  time  in  London,  sleeping  on  a bulk,  dining  in  a cellar,  with  a 
cravat  of  paper,  and  a skewer  for  a shirt-pin,  was  a happier  man  than 
any  of  the  literary  inmates  of  Frederic'-c’s  court. 

But  of  all  who  entered  the  enchanted  garden  in  the  inebriation  of 
delight,  and  quitted  it  in  agonies  of  rage  and  shame,  the  most  re 
maidvable  was  Voltaire.  Many  circumstances  had  made  him  de  irons 
of  finding  a home  at  a distance  from  his  country.  His  fame  had 
raised  him  up  enemies.  Ilis  sensibility  gave  them  a formidable  ad- 
vantage ( er  him.  They  were,  indeed,  contemptible  assailants.  Of 
all  that  they  wrote  against  him,  nothing  has  survived  except  what  he 
has  himself  preserved.  But  the  constitution  of  his  mind  resembled 
the  constitution  of  those  bodies  in  which  the  slightest  scratch  of  a 
bramble  or  the  bite  of  a gnat  never  fails  to  fester.  Though  his  repu- 
tation was  rather  raised  than  lowered  by  the  abuse  of  such  writers  as 
Freron  and  Desfontaines — though  the  vengeance  which  he  took  on 
Freron  and  Desfontaines  Avas  such  that  scourging,  branding,  pillory- 
ing, would  have  been  a trifle  to  it — there  is  reason  to  believe  that  they 
gave  hmi  far  more  pain  than  he  ever  gave  them.  Though  he  enjoyed 
during  his  own  lifetime  the  reputation  of  a classic — though  he  was 
extolled  by  his  contemporaries  above  all  poets,  philosophers,  and  his- 
torians— though  his  works  were  read  with  much  delight  and  admira- 
tion at  IMoscow  and  Westminster,  at  Florence  and  Stockholm,  as  at 
Paris  itself,  he  was  yet  tormented  by  that  restless  jealousy  which 
should  seem  to  belong  only  to  minds  burning  with  the  desire  of  fame, 
and  yet  conscious  of  impotence.  To  men  of  letters  who  could  by  no 
possibility  be  his  rivals,  he  was,  if  they  behaved  well  to  him,  not 
merely  just,  not  merely  courteous,  but  often  a hciurty  friend  and  a 
munificent  benefactor.  But  to  every  writer  who  rose  to  a celebrity 
approaching  his  own,  he  became  either  a disguised  or  an  avowed  ene- 


FREnF:ui('K  THE  (fREAT. 


29 


my.  He  slyly  depreciated  Montesquieu  and  Buffon.  He  publicly  and 
with  violent  outrage  made  war  on  .Jean  Jacques.  Xor  had  he  the  art 
of  hiding  his  feelings  under  the  semblance  of  good-humor  or  of  con- 
tempt. With  all  his  great  talents  and  all  his  long  experience  of  the 
world,  he  had  no  more  _^lf-coinmand  than  a petted  child  or  an  hys- 
terical woman.  Whenever  he  was  mortified,  he  exhausted  the  whole 
rhetoric  UT  auger  and  sorrow  to  express  his  mortification.  His  tor- 
rents of  bitter  words— his  stamping  and  cursing — liis  grimaces  and 
his  tears  of  rage — were  a rich  feast  to  those  abject  natures  whose  de- 
light is  in  the  agonies  of  powerful  spirits  and  in  the  abasement  of  im- 
mortal names.  These  creatures  had  now  found  out  a way  of  galling 
him  to  the  very  quick.  In  one  walk,  at  least,  it  had  been  admitted  by 
envy  itself  that  he  was  without  a living  competitor.  Since  Racine 
had  been  laid  among  the  great  men  whose  dust  made  the  holy  pre- 
cinct of  Port-Royal  holier,  no  tragic  poet  had  appeared  who  could  con- 
test the  palm  with  the  author  of  Zaire,  of  Alziro,  aud  of  Mcrope. 
At  length  a rival  was  announced.  Old  Crebillion,  who  many  years 
before  had  obtamed  some  theatrical  success,  and  who  had  long  been 
forgotten,  came  forth  from  his  garret  in  one  of  the  meanest  lanes 
near  the  Rue  St.  Antoine,  and  was  welcomed  by  the  acclamations  of 
envious  men  of  letters  aud  of  a capricious  populace.  A thing  callea 
Catiline,  which  he  had  written  in  his  retirement,  was  acted  with 
boundless  apxilause.  Of  this  execrable  piece  it  is  sufficient  to  say 
that  the  plot  turns  on  a love  affair,  carried  on  iii  all  the  forms  of 
Scudery,  between  Catiline,  whose  confident  is  the  Pnetor  Lentulus, 
and  Tullia,  the  daughter  of  Cicero.  The  theatre  resounded  with  ac- 
clamations. The  king  pensioned  the  successful  poet  ; and-  'le  coffee- 
houses pronounced  that  Voltaire  was  a clever  man,  but  that  the  real 
tragic  inspiration,  the  celestial  fire  which  glowed  in  Corneille  and  Ra- 
cine, was  to  be  found  in  Crebillion  alone. 

The  blow  went  to  Voltaire’s  heart.  Had  his  wisdom  aud  fortitude 
been  in  proportion  to  the  fertility  of  his  intellect,  aud  to  the  bril- 
liancy of  his  wit,  he  would  have  seen  that  it  was  out  «f  the  power  of 
all  the  puffers  and  detractors  in  Europe  to  put  CutHine  above  Zaire  ; 
but  he  had  none  of  the  magnanimous  patience  with  which  Milton  and 
Bentley  left  their  claims  to  the  unerring  judgment  of  time.  He 
eagerly  engaged  in  an  undignified  competition  with  Crebillion,  and 
produced  a series  of  plays  on  the  same  subjects  which  his  rival  had 
treated.  These  pieces  were  coolly  received.  Angry  with  the  court, 
angry  with  the  capital,  Voltaire  began  to  find  pleasure  in  the  prospect 
of  exile.  His  attachment  for  Madame  de  Chatelet  long  prevented, 
him  from  executing  his  purpose.  Her  death  set  him  at  liberty  ; and 
he  determined  to  take  refuge  at  Berlin. 

To  Berlin  he  was  invited  by 'a  series  of  letters,  couched  in  terms  of 
the  most  enthusiastic  friendship  and  admiration.  For  once  the  rigid 
parsimony  of  Frederick  seemed  to  have  relaxed.  Orders,  honorable 
offices,  a liberal  pension,  a well-served  table,  stately  apartments  under 


30 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


a royal  roof,  were  offered  in  return  for  the  pleasure  and  honor  which 
were  expected  from  the  society  of  the  fir.st  wit  of  the  age.  A thou- 
sand louis  were  remitted  for  the  charges  of  the  journey.  No  ambass- 
ador setting  out  from  Berlin  for  a court  of  the  first  rank  had  ever 
been  more  amply  supplied.  But  Voltaire  was  not  satisfied.  Af  a 
later  period,  when  he  no.ssessed  an  ample  fortune,  he  was  one  of  the 
most  liberal  of  men  ; but  till  his  means  had  become  equal  to  his 
wishes,  his  greediness  for  lucre  was  unrestrained  either  by  ju.stice  or 
by  shame.  He  had  the  effrontery  to  ask  for  a thousand  louis  more, 
in  order  to  enable  him  to  bring  his  niece,  Madame  Denis,  the  ugliest 
of  coquettes,  in  his  companj\  The  indelicate  rapacity  of  the  poet 
produced  its  natural  effect  on  the  severe  and  frugal  king.  The  an- 
swer was  a dry  refusal.  “ I did  not,”  said  His  Maje.sty,  “ solicit  the 
honor  of  the  lady’s  society.”  On  this  Voltaire  went  off  into  a parox- 
ysm of  childish  rage.  “Was  there  ever  such  avarice’?  He  has  a 
hundred  of  tubs  full  of  dollars  in  his  vaults,  and  haggles  with  me 
about  a poor  thousand  louis.”  It  seemed  that  the  negotiation  would 
be  broken  off  ; but  Frederick,  with  great  dexterity,  affected  indiffer- 
ence, and  seemed  inclined  to  transfer  his  idolatry  to  Baculard  d’Ar- 
naud.  His  .Majesty  even  wrote  some  bad  vei’ses,  of  which  the  sense 
was,  that  Voltaire  was  a setting  sun,  and  that  Arnaud  was  rising. 
Good-natured  friends  soon  carried  the  lines  to  Voltaire.  He  was  in 
bed.  He  jumped  out  in  his  shirt,  danced  about  the  room  with  rage, 
and  sent  for  his  passport  and  his  post-horses.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
foresee  the  end  of  a connection  which  had  such  a beginning. 

It  was  in  the  year  ITdO  that  Voltaire  left  the  great  capital,  which 
he  was  not  to  see  again  till,  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  thirty  years, 
he  returned,  bowed  down  by  extreme  old  age,  to  die  in  the 
midst  of  a splendid  and  ghastly  triumph.  His  reception  in  Prussia 
was  such  as  might  well  have  elated  a less  vain  and  excitable  mind. 
He  wrote  to  his  friends  at  Paris,  that  the  kindness  and  the  attention 
with  which  he  had  been  welcomed  surpassed  description  —that  the 
king  was  the  most  amiable  of  men — that  Potsdam  was  the  Paradise  of 
philosophers.  He  was  created  chamberlain,  and  received,  together 
with  his  gold  key,  the  cross  of  an  order  and  a jiatent  ensuring  to  him 
a pension  of  eight  hundred  pounds  sterling  a year  for  life.  A hun- 
dred and  sixty  pounds  a year  were  promised  to  his  niece  if  she  sur- 
vived him.  The  royal  coolrs  and  coachmen  were  pnt  at  his  disposal. 
He  was  lodged  in  the  same  apartments  in  which  Saxe  had  lived  when 
at  the  height  of  power  and  glory  he  visited  Prussia.  Frederick,  in- 
deed, stooped  for  a time  even  to  use  the  language  of  adulation.  He 
pressed  to  his  lips  the  meagre  hand  of  the  little  grinning  skeleton, 
whom  he  regarded  as  the  dispenser  of  immortal  renown.  He  would 
add,  he  said,  to  the  titles  which  he  owed  to  his  ancestors  and  his 
sword,  another  title  derived  from  his  last  and  proudest  acquisition. 
His  style  should  run  thus  : Fredericlc,  King  of  Prussia.  Margrave  of 

Pradenburg,  Sovereign  Duke  of  SUesia,  Possessor  of  Voltaire,  But 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


31 


even  amidst  the  delights  of  the  honeymoon,  Voltaire’s  sensitive 
vanity  began  to  take  alarm,  A few  days  after  his  arrival,  he  could 
not  help  telling  his  niece  that  the  amiable  king  had  a trick  of  giving 
a sly  scratch  with  one  hand  while  patting  and  stroking  witli  the 
other.  Soon  came  hints  not  the  less  alarming  because  mysterious. 
" The  supper  parties  are  delicious.  The  king  is  the  life  of  the  com- 
pany. But — I have  operas  and  comedies,  reviews  and  concerts,  my 
studies  and  books.  But — but — BerLn  is  fine,  the  princess  charming, 

the  maids  of  honor  handsome.  But ” 

This  eccentric  friendship  was  fast  cooling.  Never  had  there  met 
two  persons  so  exquisitely  fitted  to  plague  each  other.  Each  of  them 
had  exactly  the  fault  of  which  the  other  was  most  impatient ; and 
they  were,  in  different  ways,  the  most  impatient  of  mankind.  Fred 
prick  was  frugal,  almost  niggardly.  When  he  had  secured  his  play- 
rhing  he  began  to  think  that  he  had  bought  it  too  dear.  Voltaire,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  greedy,  even  to  the  extent  of  impudence  and 
Icnavery  ; and  conceived  that  the  favorite  of  a monarch  who  had  bar- 
rels full  of  gold  and  silver  laid  up  in  cellars,  ought  to  make  a fortune 
which  a receiver-general  might  envy.  They  soon  discovered  each 
other’s  feelings.  Both  were  angry,  and  a war  began,  in  which  Fred- 
erick stooped  to  the  part  of  Harpagon,  and  Voltaire  to  that  of  Scapin. 
It  is  humiliating  to  relate  that  the  great  warrior  and  statesman  gave 
orders  that  his  guest’s  allowance  of  sugar  and  chocolate  shouhl  be 
curtailed.  It  is,  if  possible,  a still  more  humiliating  fact,  that  Vol- 
taire indemnified  himself  by  pocketing  the  wax  candles  in  the  royal 
antechamber.  Disputes  about  money,  however,  were  not  the  most 
serious  disputes  of  these  extraordinary  associates.  The  sarcasm  soon 
galled  the  sensitive  temper  of  the  poet.  D’Arnaud  and  D’Argens, 
Guichard  and  La  Metric,  might,  for  the  sake  of  a morsel  of  bread, 
be  willing  to  bear  the  insolence  of  a master  ; but  Voltaire  was  of 
another  order.  He  knew  that  he  was  a potentate  as  well  as  Fred- 
erick ; that  his  European  reputation,  and  his  incomparable  power  of 
covering  whatever  he  hated  with  ridicule,  made  him  an  object  of 
dread  even  to  the  leaders  of  armies  and  the  rulers  of  nations.  In 
truth,  of  all  the  intellectual  weapons  which  have  ever  been  wielded 
by  man,  the  most  terrible  was  the  mockery  of  Voltaire.  Bigots  and 
tyrants,  who  had  never  been  moved  by  the  wailing  and  cursing  of 
millions,  turned  pale  at  his  name.  Principles  unassailable  by  reason 
—principles  which  had  withstood  the  fiercest  attacks  of  power,  the 
most  valuable  truths,  the  most  generous  sentiments,  the  nolilest  and 
most  graceful  images,  the  purest  reputations,  the  most  august  insti- 
tutions— began  to  look  mean  and  loathsome  as  soon  as  that  withering 
STiiile  was  turned  upon  them.  To  every  ojiponent,  however  strong  in 
)iis  cause  and  his  talents,  in  his  station  aud  his  character,  who  ven- 
tured 10  encounter  the  great  scoffer,  might  be  addressed  the  caution 
tvluch  was  given  of  old  to  the  Archangel : — 

.^.h.  -? 


B2 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


“ I forewarn  thee,  shtm 
His  deadly  arrow  ; neither  vainly  hope 
To  be  invulnerable  in  those  bright  arms, 

Though  temper’d  heavenly  ; for  that  fatal  dint. 

Save  Him  who  reigns  above,  none  can  resist.” 

We  cannot  pause  to  recount  how  often  that  rare  talent  was  exer- 
cised ag>»,inst  rivals  worthy  of  esteem — how  often  it  wa.s  u.sed  to 
crush  and  torture  enemies  worthy  only  of  silent  disdain — how  often 
it  was  perverted  to  the  more  noxious  purpose  of  destroying  the  last 
solace  of  earthly  misery  and  the  last  restraint  on  earthly  power. 
Neither  can  we  pause  to  tell  how  often  it  was  used  to  vindicate  jus- 
tice, humanity,  and  toleration — the  principles  of  sound  philosophy, 
the  principles  of  free  government.  This  is  not  the  place  for  a full 
character  of  Voltaire. 

Cau.ses  of  quarrel  multiplied  fast.  Voltaire,  who,  partly  from  lo\-e 
of  money  and  partly  from  love  of  excitement,  was  always  fond  of 
stockjobbing,  became  implicated  in  transactions  of  at  least  a dubious 
character.  The  king  was  delighted  at  having  such  an  o2)portunity 
to  humble  his  guest ; and  bitter  reproaches  and  complaints  were  ex- 
changed. Voltaire,  too,  was  soon  at  war  with  the  other  men  of  let- 
ters who  surrounded  the  king;  and  this  irritated  Frederick,  who, 
however,  had  himself  chiefly  to  blame  : for,  from  that  love  of  tor- 
menting which  was  in  him  a ruling  passion,  he  perpetually  lavished 
extravagant  praises  on  small  men  and  bad  books,  merely  in  order  that 
he  might  enjoy  the  mortification  and  rage  which  on  such  occasions 
Voltaire  took  no  pains  to  conceal.  His  Majesty,  however,  soon  had 
reason  to  regret  the  pains  which  he  had  taken  to  kindle  jealousy 
among  the  members  of  his  household.  The  whole  palace  was  in  a 
ferment  with  literary  intrigues  and  aibals.  It  was  to  no  purpose 
that  the  imperial  voice,  which  kept  a hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
soldiers  in  order,  was  raised  to  quiet  the  contention  of  the  exasperated 
wits.  It  was  far  easier  to  stir  up  such  a storm  than  to  lull  it.  Nor 
was  Frederick,  in  his  capacity  of  wit,  by  any  means  without  his  own 
share  of  vexations.  He  had  sent  a large  quantity  of  verses  to  Vol- 
taire, and  requested  that  they  might  be  returned  with  remarks  and 
correction.  “See,”  exclaimed  Voltaire,  “what  a quantity  of  his 
dirty  linen  the  king  has  sent  me  to  wash!”  Talebearers  were  not 
wanting  to  carry  the  sarcasm  to  the  royal  ear,  and  F rederick  w:is  as 
much  incensed  as  a Grub  Street  writer  who  had  found  his  name  in 
the  “ Dunciad.” 

This  could  not  last.  A circumstance  which,  when  the  mutual  re- 
gard of  the  friends  was  in  its  first  glow,  would  merely  have  been 
matter  for  laughter,  produced  a violent  explosion.  Maupertuis  en- 
joyed as  much  of  Frederick’s  good-will  as  any  man  of  letters.  H« 
was  President  of  the  Academy  of  Berlin,  and  stood  second  to  Voltaire, 
though  at  an  immense  distance,  in  the  literary  society  which  had 
been  assembled  at  the  Prussian  court.  Frederick  had,  by  playing  foi 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


3?j 

his  own  amnspment  on  the  feelings  of  the  two  jealous  and  vainglori- 
ous Frenchmen,  succeeded  in  producing  a bitter  enmity  between 
them.  Voltaire  resolved  to  set  his  mark,  a mark  never  to  be  effaced, 
on  the  forehead  of  Maupeituis  ; and  wrote  tlie  exquisitely  ludicrous 
diatribe  of  Doctor  Akakia.  He  showed  this  little  piece  to  Frederick, 
who  had  too  much  taste  and  too  much  malice  not  to  relish  such  deli- 
cious pleasanti'3'.  In  truth,  even  at  this  time  of  day,  it  is  not  easy 
for  any  jierson  who  has  the  least  perception  of  the  ridiculous  to  read 
the  jolces  on  the  Latin  city,  the  Patagonians,  and  the  hole  to  the  cen- 
ter of  the  earth,  without  laughing  till  he  cries.  But  though  FredfU'- 
iclt  was  diverted  bv  this  charming  pasquinade,  he  was  unwilling  that 
it  should  get  al)road.  His  self-love  was  interested.  He  had  selected 
Maupertuis  to  fill  the  Chair  of  his  Academy.  If  all  Europe  were 
tauglit  to  laugh  at  Maupertuis,  would  not  the  reputation  of  the  Acad- 
em_v,  would  not  even  the  dignitj'  of  its  rov'al  jiatron  be  in  some  de- 
gree compromised  ? The  king,  therefore,  begged  Voltaire  to  sii  |>- 
press  his  performance.  Voltaire  promised  to  do  so,  and  broke  Lis 
word.  The  diatrilie  was  published,  and  received  with  shouts  of  mer- 
riment and  applause  I)_v  all  who  could  read  the  French  language’. 
The  king  stormed,  Voltaire,  with  his  usual  disregard  of  truth,  p)o- 
tested  his  innocence,  and  made  up  some  lie  about  a printer  or  an 
amanuensis.  The  king  was  not  to  be  so  imposed  upon.  He  ordered 
the  pamphlet  to  be  burned  by  the  common  hangman,  and  insisted 
upon  having  an  apology  from  Voltaire,  couched  in  the  most  abject 
terms.  Voltaire  sent  back  to  the  king  his  cross,  his  ke}',  and  tlie 
patent  of  his  pension.  After  this  burst  of  rage,  the  strange  pair  be- 
gan to  be  ashamed  of  their  violence,  and  went  through  the  forms  of 
reconciliation.  But  the  breach  was  irreparable ; and  Voltaire  took 
his  leave  of  Frederick  forever.  They  parted  with  cold  civility  ; but 
their  hearts  were  big  with  resentment.  Voltaire  had  in  his  keejiing 
a volume  of  the  king’s  poetry  and  forgot  to  return  it.  This  was,  ue 
believe,  merelj’  one  of  the  oversights  which  men  settmg  out  upon  a 
journev'  often  commit.  That  Voltaire  could  have  meditated  plagiar- 
ism is  quite  incredible.  He  would  not,  we  are  confident,  for  the  half 
of  Frederick's  kingdom,  have  consented  to  father  Frederick’s  verses. 
The  king,  howevmr,  who  rated  his  own  writings  much  above  their 
value,  and  who  was  inclined  to  see  all  Voltaire’s  actions  in  the  worst 
light,  was  enraged  to  think  that  his  favorite  compositions  were  in  the 
hands  of  an  enemy,  as  thievish  as  a daw  and  as  mischiev'ous  as  a 
monkey.  In  the  anger  excited  by  this  thought,  he  lost  sight  of  reason 
and  deceuc_y,  and  determined  on  committing  an  outrage  at  once  odi- 
ous and  ridiculous. 

Voltaire  had  reached  Frankfort.  His  niece,  Madame  Denis,  came 
thither  to  meet  him.  He  conceived  himself  secure  from  the  power  of 
liis  late  master,  when  he  was  arrested  by  order  of  the  Prussian  resL 
dent.  The  precious  volume  was  delivered  up.  But  the  Prussian 
agents  had  no  doubt  been  instructed  not  to  let  Voltaire  escape  udthout 


34 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


some  gross  indignity.  He  was  confined  twelve  days  in  a wretclied 
liovel.  Sentinels  with  fixed  bayonets  kept  guard  over  him.  His 
niece  was  dragged  tiirough  the  m'.re  hy  the  soldiers.  Sixteen  hun- 
dred dollars  were  extorted  from  him  hy  his  insolent  jailers.  It  is  ab- 
surd to  say  that  this  outrage  is  not  to  he  attril)uted  to  the  king. 
Was  anybody  puni.shed  for  it  ? Was  anybody  called  in  question  for  it '! 
^V.as  it  not  consistent  with  Frederick’s  character  ? Was  it  not  of  a 
piece  with  his  co-.duct  on  other  similar  occasions?  Is  it  not  notorious 
that  he  repeatedly  gave  private  directions  to  his  officers  to  pillage  and 
demolish  the  houses  of  persons  against  whom  he  had  a grudge — 
charging  them  at  the  same  time  to  take  their  measure  in  such  a way 
that  his  name  might  not  he  compromised  ? He  acted  thus  to\tards 
Count  Buhl  in  the  Seven  Years’  War.  Why  should  we  believe  that 
he  would  have  been  more  scrupulous  with  regard  to  Voltaire  ? 

When  at  length  the  illustrious  prisoner  regained  his  liberty,  th« 
prospect  before  him  was  hut  drear}'.  He  was  an  exile  both  from  the 
country  of  his  birth  and  from  the  country  of  his  ado])tion.  The 
French  government  had  taken  offence  at  his  journey  to  Prussia,  and 
Avmild  not  permit  him  to  return  to  Paris  ; and  in  the  vicinity  of 
Prussia  it  was  not  safe  for  him  to  remain. 

He  took  refugo  on  the  beautiful  shores  of  Lake  Leman.  There, 
loo.st'd  from  every  tie  which  had  hitherto  restrained  him,  and  having 
little  to  hope  or  to  fear  from  courts  and  eliurches,  he  began  his  long 
war  against  all  that,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  had  authority  over 
man  ; for  what  Burke  .said  of  the  Constituent  Assembly  was  emi- 
nently true  of  this  its  great  forerunner.  He  could  not  build — he 
could  only  pull  down  ; he  was  the  very  Vitruvius  of  ruin.  He  has 
bequeathed  to  us  not  a single  doctrine  to  be  called  hy  his  name,  not  a 
single  addition  to  the  stock  of  our  positive  knowledge.  But  no  human 
teacher  ever  left  behind  him  so  vast  and  terrible  a wreck  of  trutlrs 
and  falsehoods — of  things  noble  and  things  base — of  things  useful 
and  things  pernicious.  From  the  time  when  his  sojourn  beneath  the 
Alps  commenced,  the  dramatist,  the  wit,  the  historian,  was  merged 
in  a more  important  character.  He  was  now  the  patriarch,  tl.e 
founder  of  a sect,  the  chief  of  a conspiracy,  the  prince  of  a wide 
intellectual  commonwealth.  He  often  enjoyed  a jileasure  dear  to  the 
(better  iiart  of  his  nature — the  pleasure  of  vindicating  innocence 
’which  liad  no  other  helper,  of  repairing  cruel  wrongs,  of  punishing 
tyranny  in  high  places.  He  had  also  the  satisfaction,  not  less  accept- 
able to  his  ravenous  vanity,  of  hearing  terrified  Capuchins  call  him 
the  Antichrist.  But  whether  employed  in  works  of  benevolence  or  in 
works  of  mischief,  he  never  forgot  Potsdam  and  Frankfort  ; and  he 
listened  anxiously  to  every  murmur  which  indicated  that  a tempest 
was  gathering  in  Europe,  and  that  his  vengeance  was  at  hand. 

He  soon  had  his  wish.  Maria  Theresa  had  never  for  a moment 
forgotten  the  great  wrong  which  she  had  received  at  the  hand  of 
Fredericlt.  Youne  and  delicate,  just  left  an  orphan,  just  about  to  be 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


83 


a motlier,  slie  had  boon  comjielled  to  fly  from  the  ancient  capital  ol 
her  race  ; she  had  seen  her  fair  inheritance  dismembered  by  robbers, 
and  of  those  robbers  lie  had  been  the  foremost.  Without  a pretext, 
without  a provocation,  in  defiance  of  the  most  sacred  engagements, 
he  had  attacked  the  helpless  ally  whom  he  was  bound  to  defend. 
The  Empress-Queen  had  the  faults  ai  well  as  the  virtues  which  are 
connected  with  quick  sensibility  and  a high  spirit.  There  was  no 
peril  which  she  was  not  ready  to  brave,  no  calamity  which  she  was 
not  ready  to  bring  on  her  subjects,  or  on  the  whole  human  race,  if 
only  she  might  once  taste  the  sweetness  of  a complete  revenge.  Re- 
venge, too,  presented  itseif  to  her  narrow  and  superstitious  mind  in 
the  guise  of  duty.  Silesia  had  been  wrested  not  only  from  the  house 
of  Austria,  but  from  the  Church  of  Rome. 

The  conqueror  had,  indeed,  permitted  his  new  subjects  to  worship 
God  after  their  own  fashion  ; but  this  was  not  enough.  To  bigotry  it 
seemed  an  intolerable  hardship  that  the  Catholic  Church,  having 
long  enjoyed  ascendancy,  should  be  compelled  to  content  itself  with 
equality.  Nor  was  this  the  only  circumstance  which  led  Maria 
Theresa  to  regard  her  enemy  as  the  enemy  of  God.  The  profaneness 
of  Frederick’s  writings  and  conversation,  and  the  frightful  rumors 
which  were  circulated  respecting  the  immoralities  of  his  iprivate  life, 
naturally  shocked  a v.mman  who  believed  with  the  firmest  faith  all 
that  her  confessor  told  her,  and  who,  though  surrounded  by  tempta- 
tions, though  young  and  beautiful,  though  ardent  in  all  her  passions, 
though  possessed  of  absolute  power,  had  preserved  her  fame  unsul- 
lied even  by  the  breath  of  slander. 

To  recover  Silesia,  to  humble  the  dynasty  of  Hohenzollern  to  the 
dust,  was  the  great  object  of  her  life.  She  toiied  during  many  years 
for  this  end,  with  zeal  as  indefatigable  as  that  which  the  poet 
ascribes  to  the  stately  goddess  who  tired  out  her  immortal  horses  in 
the  work  of  raising  the  nations  against  Troy,  and  who  offered  to  give 
up  to  destruction  her  darling  Sparta  and  Mycenae,  if  only  slie  might 
once  see  the  smoke  going  up  from  the  palace  of  Priam.  ^Vith  even 
such  a spirit  did  the  proud  Austrian  J uno  strive  to  array  against  hei 
foe  a coalition  such  as  Europe  had  never  seen.  Nothing  would  con- 
tent her  but  that  th  > whole  civilized  world,  fr  m the  White  Sea  to 
the  Adriatic,  fr  m the  Bay  of  Biscay  to  the  pastures  of  the  wild 
horses  of  Tanais,  should  be  combined  in  arms  against  one  petty  state. 

She  early  succeeded  by  various  arts  in  obtaining  the  adhesion  of 
Russia.  An  ample  share  of  spoils  was  promised  to  the  King  of  Po- 
land : and  that  prince,  governed  by  his  favorite.  Count  Buhl,  readily 
promised  the  assistance  of  the  Saxon  forces.  The  great  difficulty  was 
with  France.  That  the  houses  of  Bourlion  and  of  llapsburg  should  ever 
cordially  co-operate  in  any  great  scheme  of  European  policy  had  long 
been  thought,  to  use  the  strong  expression  of  Fredericlr,  just  as  im- 
possible as  that  fire  and  water  should  amalgamate.  The  whole  his 
tory  of  the  Continent,  during  two  centuries  and  a half,  had  been  the 


^6 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


tiistoiy  of  the  mutual  jealousies  and  enmities  of  France  and  Austria. 
Since  the  administration  of  Richelieu,  above  all , it  had  been  consid- 
ered as  the  plain  policy  of  the  most  Christian  king  to  thwart  on  all 
oevasions  the  court  of  Vienna,  and  to  protect  every  member  of  the 
Germanic  body  who  stood  up  against  the  dictation  of  the  Cfesars. 
Common  sentiments  of  religion  had  been  unable  to  mitigate  this 
strong  antipathy.  The  rulers  of  France,  even  while  clothed  in  the 
Roman  purple,  even  while  persecuting  the  heretics  of  Rochelle  and 
Auvergne,  had  still  looked  with  favor  on  the  Lutheran  and  Calvin-j 
istic  princes  who  were  struggling  against  the  chief  of  the  empire. 
If  the  French  ministers  paid  any  respect  to  the  traditional  ru  es 
handed  down  to  them  through  many  generations,  they  would  have 
acted  towards  Frederick  as  the  greatest  of  their  predecessors  acted 
towards  Gustavus  Adolphus.  That  there  was  deadly  enmity  between 
Prussia  and  Austria,  was  of  itself  a sufficient  reason  for  close  friend- 
ship between  Prussia  and  France.  With  France,  Frederick  could 
never  have  any  serious  controversy.  His  territories  were  so  situated, 
that  his  ambition,  greedy  and  unscrupulous  as  it  was,  could  never  im- 
pel him  to  attaolv  her  of  his  own  accord.  He  was  more  than  half  a 
Frenchman.  He  wrote,  spoke,  read  nothing  but  French  ; he  de- 
lighted in  French  society.  The  admiration  of  the  French  he  ]u'o- 
posed  to  himself  as  the  best  reward  of  all  his  exploits.  It  seemed  in- 
credible that  any  French  government,  however  notorious  for  levity  or 
stirjiidity,  could  spurn  away  such  an  ally. 

The  court  of  Vienna,  however,  did  not  despair.  The  Austrian  dip- 
lomatists propounded  a new  scheme  of  politics,  which,  it  mmst  be 
owned,  was  not  altogether  without  plausibility.  The  great  powers, 
according  to  this  theory,  had  long  been  under  a delusion.  They  had 
loolied  on  each  other  as  natural  enemies,  while  in  truth  they  were 
natural  allies.  A succ'  ssion  of  cniel  wars  had  devastated  Europe, 
had  thinned  the  population,  had  exhausted  the  public  resources,  had 
loaded  governments  with  an  immense  burden  of  debt  ; and  when,  af- 
ter two  hundred  years  of  murderous  hostility  or  of  hollow  truce,  the 
illustrious  houses  whose  enmity  had  distracted  the  world  sat  down  to 
count  their  gains,  to  what  did  the  real  advantage  on  either  side 
amount  ? Simply  to  this,  that  they  kept  each  other  from  thriving. 
It  was  not  the  King  of  France,  it  was  not  the  Emperor,  who  had 
reajied  the  fruits  of  the  Thirty  Years’  War,  of  the  War  of  the  Grand 
Alliance,  of  the  War  of  the  Pragmatic  Sanction.  Those  fruits  have 
been  pilfered  by  States  of  the  second  and  third  rank,  which,  secured 
against  jealousy  by  their  insignificance,  had  dexterously  aggrandizeu 
themselves  while  pretending  to  serve  the  animosity  of  the  great  chiefs 
of  Christendom.  While  the  lion  and  tiger  were  tearing  each  other, 
the  jackal  had  run  off  into  the  jungle  with  the  prey.  The  real  gainer 
by  rne  Thirty  Years’  War  had  been  neither  France  nor  Austria,  but 
Sweden.  The  real  gainer  by  the  War  of  the  Grand  Alliance  had 
been  neither  France  nor  Austria,  but  Savoy.  The  real  gainer  by  thu 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


37 


War  of  tlie  Pragmatic  Sanction  had  been  neither  France  nor  Austria, 
but  the  upstart  of  Brandenburg.  Of  all  these  instances,  the  last  was 
the  most  striking  • France  had  made  great  efforts,  had  added  largely 
to  her  military  glory  and  largely  to  her  public  burdens  ; and  for  what 
end?  Merely  that  Frederick  might  i ule  Silesia.  For  this,  and  this 
alone,  one  French  amiy,  wasted  by  sword  and  famine,  had  perished 
in  Bohemia  ; and  another  had  purchased,  with  floods  of  the  noblest 
blood,  the  barren  glory  of  Fontenoy.  And  this  prince,  for  whom 
France  had  suffered  so  much,  was  he  a grateful,  was  he  even  an  hon- 
est ally?  Had  he  not  been  as  false  to  the  court  of  Versailles  as  to  the 
court  of  Vienna  ? Had  he  not  played  on  a large  scale  the  same  part 
which,  in  private  life,  is  played  by  the  vile  agent  of  chicane  who  .-ets 
his  neighbors  quarrelling,  involves  them  in  costly  and  interminable 
litigation,  and  betrays  them  to  each  other  all  round,  certain  that, 
whoever  may  be  ruined,  he  shall  be  enriched?  Surely  the  true  wis 
dom  of  the  great  powers  was  to  attack,  not  each  other,  but  this  com- 
mon barrator,  who,  by  inflaming  the  passions  of  both,  by  pretending 
to  serve  both,  and  by  deserting  both,  had  raised  himself  above  the 
station  to  which  he  was  born.  The  great  object  of  Austria  was  to  re- 
gain Silesia  ; the  great  object  of  France  was  to  obtain  an  accession  of 
territory  on  the  side  o.  Flanders.  If  they  took  opposite  sides,  the  re- 
sult would  probably  be  that,  after  a war  of  many  years,  after  the 
slaughter  of  many  thousands  of  brave  men,  after  the  wa.ste  of  niany 
millions  of  crowns,  they  would  lay  down  their  arms  without  having 
achieved  either  object ; but  if  they  came  to  an  understanding,  there 
wonld  be  no  risk  and  no  difficulty.  Austria  would  willingly  make  in 
Belgium  such  cessions  as  France  could  not  expect  to  obtain  by  ten 
pitched  battles.  Silesia  would  easily  be  annexed  to  the  monarchy  of 
which  it  had  long  been  a part  The  union  of  two  such  powerful  gov- 
ernments would  at  once  overawe  the  King  of  Prussia.  If  he  resisted, 
one  short  campaign  would  settle  his  fate.  France  and  Austria,  long 
accustomed  to  rise  from  the  game  of  war  both  losers,  would,  for  the 
first  time,  both  be  gainers.  There  could  be  no  room  for  jealousy  be- 
tween them.  The  power  of  both  would  be  increased  at  once  ; the 
equilibrium  between  them  would  be  preserved  ; and  the  only  sufferer 
would  be  a mischievous  and  unprincipled  buccaneer,  who  deserved  no 
tenderness  from  either. 

j These  doctrines,  attractive  for  their  novelty  and  ingenuity,  soon  be- 
jcame  fashionable  at  the  supper-parties  and  in  the  coffee-houses  of 
Paris,  and  were  espoused  by  every  gay  marquis  and  every  facetious 
abbe  who  was  admitted  to  see  Madame  de  Pompadour’s  hair  curled 
and  powdered.  It  was  not,  however,  to  any  political  theory  that  the 
strange  coalition  between  France  and  Austria  owed  its  origin.  The 
real  motive  which  induced  the  great  continental  powers  to  forget 
their  old  animosities  and  their  old  state  maxims,  was  personal  aver 
sion  to  the  King  of  Prussia.  This  feeling  was  strongest  in  Maria 
Theresa  ; but  it  was  by  no  means  confined  to  her.  Frederick,  in  some 


38 


FKEDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


respects  a good  master,  was  empliatically  a bad  neighbor.  That  he 
was  hard  in  all  his  dealings  and  quick  to  take  all  advantages  was  not 
his  most  odious  fault.  His  bitter  and  scoffing  speech  had  inflicted 
keener  wounds  than  his  ambition.  In  his  character  of  wit  lie  was 
under  less  restraint  than  even  in  his  character  of  ruler.  Satirical 
verses  against  all  the  princes  aud  ministers  of  Europe  were  ascribed 
to  his  pen.  In  his  letters  and  conversation  he  alluded  to  the  greate.st 
potentates  of  the  age  in  tenns  which  would  have  better  suited  Colle 
in  a war  of  repartee  with  young  Crebillion  at  Pelletier’s  table,  than 
a great  sovereign  speaking  of  great  sovereigns.  About  women  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  expressing  himself  in  a manner  which  it  was  im- 
jiossiljle  for  the  meekest  of  women  to  forgive  ; and,  unfortunately  for 
him,  almost  the  whole  continent  was  then  governed  by  women  who 
were  by  no  means  conspicuous  for  meekness.  Maria  Theresa  herself 
iiad  not  escaped  his  scurrulous  jests  ; the  Empress  Elizabeth  of  Rus 
sia  knew  that  her  gallantries  afforded  him  a favorite  theme  for  ri 
baldly  and  invective  ; Madame  de  Pompadour,  who  was  really  the 
head  of  tlie  French  government,  had  been  even  more  keenly  galled. 
She  ad  attempted,  by  the  most  delicate  flattery,  to  propitiate  the  King 
of  Prussia,  but  her  messages  had  drawn  from  him  only  dry  and  sar- 
castic replies.  The  Empress- Queen  took  a very  different  course. 
Though  the  haughtiest  of  princesses,  though  the  most  austere  of 
matrons,  she  forgot  in  her  thirst  for  revenge  both  the  dignity  of  her 
race  and  the  purity  of  her  character,  and  condescended  to  flatter  the 
low-liorn  and  low-minded  concubine,  who,  having  acquired  influence 
by  prostituting  herself,  retained  it  by  prostituting  others.  Maria 
Theresa  actually  wrote  \vith  her  own  hand  a note  full  of  expressions 
of  esteem  and  friendship  to  her  dear  cousin,  the  daughter  of  the 
butcher  Poisson,  the  wife  of  the  publican  D'Etioles,  the  kidnapper  of 
young  girls  for  the  Parc-aux-cerfx — a strange  cousin  for  the  descendant 
of  so  man}'  Emperors  of  the  M'est  ! The  mistress  was  completely  gained 
over  and  easily  carried  her  point  with  Louis,  who  had,  indeed, 
wrongs  of  his  own  to  resent.  His  feelings  were  not  quick  ; but  con 
tempt,  says  the  eastern  proverb,  pierces  even  through  the  shell  of  the 
tortoise  ; and  neither  prudence  nor  decorum  had  ever  restrained  Fred- 
erick from  expressing  his  measureless  contempt  for  the  sloth,  the  im- 
becility, and  the  baseness  of  Louis.  France  was  thus  induced  to  join 
the  coalition  ; and  the  example  of  France  detemrined  the  conduct  of 
Sweden,  then  completely  subject  to  French  influence. 

The  enemies  of  Frederick  were  surely  strong  enough  to  attack  him 
openly,  but  they  were  desirous  to  add  to  all  their  other  advantatres 
the  advantage  of  a surpi  ise.  He  was  not,  however,  a man  to  be  taken 
off  his  guard.  He  had  tools  in  every  court  ; and  he  now  receiveil 
from  Vienna,  from  Dresden,  and  from  Paris,  accounts  so  circumstan- 
tial and  so  consistent,  that  he  could  not  doubt  of  his  danger.  He 
learnt  that  he  was  to  be  assailed  at  once  by  France.  Austria.  Russia. 
Saxony,  Sweden,  and  the  Germanic  body  ; that  the  greater  part  of 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


39 


his  dominions  was  to  be  portioned  out  among  his  enemies  ; that 
France,  which  from  her  geographical  position  could  not  directly  share 
in  his  spoils,  was  to  receive  an  equivalent  in  the  Netherlands  ; that 
Austria  was  to  have  Silesia,  and  the  czarina  East  Prussia  ; that  Au- 
gustus of  Saxony  expected  Madgeburg  ; and  that  Sweden  would  bo 
rewarded  with  part  of  Pomerania.  If  these  designs  succeeded,  the 
house  of  Bradenburg  would  at  once  sink  in  the  European  system  to  a 
place  lower  than  that  of  the  Duke  of  Wurtemburg  or  the  Margrave 
of  Baden. 

And  what  hope  was  there  that  these  designs  would  fail  ? No  such 
union  of  the  continental  powers  had  been  seen  for  ages.  A less  for- 
midable confederacy  had  in  a week  conquered  all  the  provinces  of 
Venice,  when  Venice  was  at  the  height  of  power,  wealth,  and  glory. 
A less  formidable  confederacy  had  compelled  Louis  the  Fourteentli 
to  bow  down  his  haughty  head  to  the  very  earth.  A less  formidable 
confi-deracy  has,  within  our  own  memory,  subjugated  a still  mightier 
empire  and  abased  a still  prouder  name.  Such  odds  had  never  been 
heard  of  in  war.  The  people  who  Frederick  ruled  were  not  five  mil- 
lions. The  population  of  the  countries  which  were  leagued  against 
him  amounted  to  a hundred  millions.  The  disproportion  in  wealth 
was  at  least  equally  great.  Small  communities,  actuated  by  strong 
sentiments  of  patriotism  or  loyalty,  have  sometimes  made  head 
against  great  monarchies  weakened  by  factions  and  discontents.  But 
small  as  was  Frederick’s  kingdom,  it  juobably  contained  a greater 
number  of  disaffected  subjects  than  were  to  be  found  in  all  the  States 
of  his  enemies.  Silesia  formed  a fourth  part  of  his  dominions  ; and 
from  the  Silesians,  born  under  the  Austrian  princes,  the  utmost  that 
he  cotild  expect  was  apathy.  From  the  Silesian  Catholics  he  could 
hardly  expect  anything  but  resistance. 

Some  States  have  been  enabled,  by  their  geographical  position,  to 
defend  themselves  with  advantage  against  immense  force.  The  sea 
has  repeatedly  protected  EnglantL  against  the  fury  of  the  whole  Con- 
tinent. The  Venetian  government,  driven  from  its  possessions  on  the 
land,  could  still  bid  defiance  to  the  confederates  of  Cambray  from 
the  arsenal  amidst  the  lagoons.  More  than  one  great  and  well- 
appointed  army,  which  regarded  the  shepherds  of  Siyitzerland  as  an 
easy  prey,  has  perished  in  the  passes  of  the  Alps.  Frederick  had  no 
such  adv'antage.  The  form  of  his  States,  their  situation,  the  nature 
of  the  ground,  all  were  against  him.  His  long,  scattered,  straggling 
territory  seemed  to  have  been  shaped  with  an  express  view  to  the 
convenience  of  invaders,  and  was  protected  by  no  sea,  by  no  chain  of 
hills.  Scarcely  any  corner  of  it  was  a week’s  march  from  the  terri- 
tory of  the  enemy.  The  capital  itself,  in  the  event  of  war,  would  be 
constantly  exposed  to  insult.  In  truth,  there  was  hardly  a politician 
or  a soldier  in  Europe  who  doubted  that  the  conflict  would  be  termi- 
nated in  a very  few  days  by  the  prostration  of  the  house  of  Branden- 
burg. 


40 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


Nor  was  Froclerick’s  own  opinion  very  different.  He  anticipated 
nothing  short  of  his  own  ruin,  and  of  "the  ruin  of  his  family  Yet 
there  was  still  a chance,  a slender  chance  of  escape.  His  States  had 
at  least  the  advantage  of  a central  position  ; his  enemies  were  widely 
separated  from  each  other,  and  could  not  conveniently  unite  their 
overwhelming  forces  on  one  point.  They  inhabited  different  clunates, 
and  it  was  probable  that  the  season  of  the  year  which  would  be  best 
suited  to  the  military  operations  of  one  portion  of  the  league,  would 
be  unfavorable  to  those  of  another  portion.  The  Prusssan  monarchy, 
too,  was  free  from  some  infirmities  which  were  found  in  empires  far 
more  extensive  and  magnificent.  Its  effective  strength  for  a desper- 
ate struggle  was  not  to  be  measured  merely  by  the  number  of  square 
mile-i  or  the  number  of  people.  In  that  square  but  well-knit  and 
well-exercised  liody,  there  was  nothing  but  sinew  and  muscle  and 
bone.  No  public  creditors  looked  for  dividends.  No  distant  colonies 
recpiired  defence.  No  court,  filled  with  flatterers  and  mistresses,  de- 
voured the  pay  of  fifty  battalions.  The  Prussian  anny,  though  far 
inferior  in  number  to  the  troops  which  were  about  to  be  opjiosed  to 
it,  was  yet  strong  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  extent  of  the  Prussian 
dominions.  It  was  also  admirably  trained  and  admirably  officeri-d, 
accustomed  to  obey  and  accustomed  to  conquer.  The  revenue  was 
not  only  unencmnbered  by  debt,  but  exceeded  the  ordinary  outlay  in 
time  of  peace.  Alone  of  all  the  European  princes,  Frederick  had  a 
treasure  laid  up  for  a day  of  difficulty  Above  all,  he  was  one  and 
his  enemies  were  many.  In  their  camps  would  certainly  be  found 
the  jealousy,  the  dissension,  the  slackness  inseparable  from  coalition  ; 
on  his  side  was  the  energy,  the  unit}',  the  secrecy  of  a strong  dictator 
ship.  To  a certain  extent  the  deficiency  of  military  means  might  be 
supplied  by  the  resources  of  military  art.  Small  as  the  king’s  army 
was,  when  compared  with  the  six  hundred  thousand  men  whom  the 
confederates  could  bring  into  the  field,  celerity  of  movement  might  in 
some  degree  compensate  for  deficiency  of  bulk.  It  is  thus  just  jiossi- 
ble  that  genius,  judgment,  resolution,  and  good  luck  united  might 
])i'otract  the  struggle  during  a.^campaign  or  two  : and  to  gain  even  a 
month  was  of  importance.  It  could  not  be  long  before  the  vice.s 
which  are  found  in  all  extensive  confederacies  would  begin  to  show 
themselves.  Every  member  of  the  league  would  think  his  own  share 
of  the  war  too  large,  and  his  otra  share  of  the  spoils  too  small.  Com- 
plaints and  recrimination  would  abound.  The  Turk  might  stir  on  the 
Danube  ; the  statesmen  of  France  might  discover  the  error  which  they 
had  committed  in  abandoning  the  fundamental  ]irinciples  of  their  na- 
tional policy.  Above  all,  death  might  rid  Prussia  of  its  mo.st  for- 
midable enemies.  The  war  was  the  effect  of  the  personal  aversion 
with  which  three  or  four  sovereigns  regarded  Frederick  ; and  the  de- 
cease of  any  of  those  sovereigns  might  produce  a complete  revolution 
in  the  state  of  Europe. 

In  the  midst  of  an  horizon  generally  dark  and  stormy.  Frederick 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


41 


eould  discern  one  bright  spot.  The  peace  which  had  been  concluded 
between  England  and  France  in  1748  had  been  in  Europe  no  more 
than  an  armistice  ; and  not  even  been  an  armistice  in  the  other  quarters 
of  the  globe.  In  India  the  sovereignty  of  the  Carnatic  was  disputed 
between  two  great  Mussulman  houses  ; Fort  Saint  George  had  taken 
the  one  side,  Pondicherry  the  other  ; and  in  a series  of  battles  and 
sieges  the  troops  of  Lawrence  and  Clive  had  been  opposed  to  those  of 
Dupleix.  A struggle  less  important  in  its  consequence,  but  not  less 
likely  to  produce  immediate  irritation,  was  carried  on  between  those 
French  and  English  adventurers  who  kidnapped  negroes  and  collected 
gold  dust  on  the  coast  of  Guinea.  But  it  was  in  North  America  that 
the  emulation  and  mutual  aversion  of  the  two  nations  were  most  con- 
spicuous. The  French  attemjited  to  hem  in  the  English  colonists  by 
a chain  of  military  posts,  extending  from  the  great  Lakes  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Mississippi.  The  English  took  arms.  The  wild  abori- 
ginal tribes  appeared  on  each  side  mingled  with  the  “Pale  Faces.” 
Battles  were  fought ; forts  were  stormed  ; and  b.ideous  slor'.es  about 
stakes,  scalpings,  and  death-songs  reached  Europe  and  inflamed  that 
national  animosity  which  the  rivalry  of  ages  had  produced.  The  dis- 
putes between  France  and  England  came  to  a crisis  at  the  very  time 
when  the  tempest  which  had  been  gathering  was  about  to  burst  on 
Prussia.  The  tastes  and  interests  of  Frederick  would  have  led  him, 
if  he  had  been  allowed  an  option,  to  side  with  the  house  of  Bourbon. 
But  the  folly  of  the  court  of  Versailles  left  him  no  choice.  France 
became  the  tool  of  Austria,  and  Frederick  was  forced  to_become.the 
ally  of  England.  He  could  not”  indeedT'expect  that  a power  which 
coveredHlie  sea  with  its  fleets,  and  which  had  to  make  war  at  once  on 
the  Ohio  and  the  Ganges,  would  be  able  to  spare  a large  number  of 
tro()i>s  for  operations  in  Germany.  But  England,  though  poor  com- 
pared with  the  England  of  our  tim  , was  far  richer  than  any  country 
on  the  Continent.  The  amount  of  her  revenue  and  the  resources 
which  she  found  in  her  credit,  though  they  may  be  thought  small  by 
a generation  which  has  seen  her  raise  a hundred  and  thirty  millions 
in  a single  year,  appeared  miraculous  to  the  politicians  of  that  age. 
A very  moderate  portion  of  her  wealth,  expended  by  an  able  and 
economical  prince,  in  a country  where  jirices  were  low,  would  be, 
sufficient  to  equip  and  maintain  a formidable  army. 

' Such  was  the  situation  in  which  Frederick  found  himself.  He  saw 
the  whole  extent  of  his  peril.  He  saw  that  there  was  still  a faint 
possibility  of  escape  ; and,  with  prudent  temerity,  be  determined  to 
strike  the  first  blow.  It  was  in  the  month  of  August,  1756,  thirTthe 
greal  war  of  the  Seven  Years  commenced.  The  king  demanded  of 
the  Empress-Queen  a distmet  explanation  of  her  intentions,  and 
plainly  told  her  that  he  should  consider  a refusal  as  a declaration  of 
war.  “ I .want,”  he  said,  “ no  answer  in  the  style  of  an  oracle.”  He 
received  an  answer  at  once  haughty  and  evasive.  In  an  instant,  the 
rich  e'ectorate  of  Saxony  was  overflowed  by  sixty  thousand  Prussian 


43 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


troops.  Augustus  with  his  army  occupied  a strong  position  at  Rirr.a, 
The  Queen  of  Poland  was  at  Dresden.  In  a few  days  Pirna  wag 
blockaded  and  Dresden  was  taken.  The  object  of  Frederick  wa.s  to 
obtain  possession  of  the  Saxon  State  Papers  ; for  those  papers,  he  well 
Itnew,  contained  ample  proofs  that  though  apparently  an  aggressor, 
he  was  really  acting  in  self-defence.  The  Queen  of  Poland,  as  well 
acquainted  as  Frederick  with  the  importance  of  those  documents,  had 
packed  them  up,  had  concealed  them  in  her  bed-chamber,  and  was 
about  to  send  them  off  to  ^Varsaw,  when  a Prussian  officer  made  his 
appearance.  In  the  hope  that  no  soldier  would  venture  to  outrage  a 
lady,  a queen,  a daughter  of  an  emperor,  the  mf/ther-in-law  of  a 
dauphin,  she  placed  herself  before  the  trunk,  and  at  length  sat  down 
on  it.  But  all  resistance  rvas  vain.  The  pa]>ors  were  carried  to  Fred- 
erick, who  found  in  them,  as  he  expected,  abundant  evidence  of  the 
designs  of  the  coalition.  The  most  important  documents  were  in- 
stantly published,  and  the  effect  of  the  publication  was  great.  It 
was  clear  that,  of  whatever  sins  the  King  of  Prussia  might  formerly 
have  been  guilty,  he  was  now  the  injured  party,  and  had  merely  an- 
ticipated a blow  intended  to  destroy  him. 

The  Saxon  camp  at  Pirna  was  in  the  mean  time  closely  invested  ; 
but  the  besieged  were  not  without  hopes  of  succor.  A great  Austrian 
army  under  Marshal  Brown  ^ as  about  to  pour  through  the  passes 
which  separate  Bohemia  from  Saxony.  Fn  derick  left  at  Pirna  a force 
sufficient  to  deal  with  the  Saxons,  hastened  into  Bohemia,  encountered 
Brown  at  Lowositz,  and  defeated  him.  This  battle  decided  the  fate 
of  Saxony.  Augustus  and  his  favorite.  Buhl,  lied  to  Poland.  The 
whole  army  of  the  electorate  capitulated.  From  that  time  till  the 
end  of  the  war,  Frederick  treated  Saxony  as  a part  of  his  dominions, 
or,  rather,  he  acted  towards  the  Saxons  in  a manner  which  may  serve 
to  illustrate  the  whole  meaning  of  that  tremendous  sentence — sub- 
jectos  tanquam  suos,  vUcs  tanqxam  alienos.  Saxony  was  as  much  in 
his  power  as  Bradenburg  ; and  he  had  no  such  interest  in  the  welfare 
of  Saxony  as  he  had  in  the  welfare  of  Bradenburg.  He  accordingly 
levied  troops  and  exacted  contributions  throughout  the  enslaved  pro- 
vince, with  far  more  rigor  than  in  any  part  of  his  own  dominions. 
Seventeen  thousand  men  who  had  been  in  the  camp  at  Pirna  were 
lialf  compelled,  half  persuaded,  to  enlist  under  their  conqueror. 
Thus,  nithin  a few  weeks  from  the  commencement  of  hostilities, 
one  of  the  confederates  had  been  disarmed,  and  his  weapons  pointed 
against  the  rest. 

The  winter  put  a stop  to  military  operations.  .lUl  had  hitherto 
gone  well.  Bui  the  real  tug  of  war  was  still  to  come.  It  was  easy 
to  foresee  that  the  year  1757  would  be  a memorable  era  in  the  history 
of  Europe. 

The  scheme  for  the  campaign  was  simple,  bold,  and  judicious. 
The  Duke  of  Cumberland  scith  an  English  and  Hanoverian  army  was 
in  Western  Germany,  and  might  be  able  to  prevent  the  French 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


43 


troops  from  attacking  Prussia.  The  Russians,  confined  by  tlieir 
snows,  would  probably  not  stir  till  the  spring  was  far  advanced. 
Saxony  was  piostrated.  Sweden  could  do  nothing  very  important. 
During  a few  months  Frederick  would  have  to  deal  with  Austria 
alone.  Even  thus  the  odds  were  against  him.  But  ability  and  cour- 
age have  often  triumphed  against  odds  still  more  formidable. 

Early  in  1757  the  Prussian  army  in  Saxony  began  to  move. 
Through  four  defiles  in  the  mountains  they  came  pouring  into  Bo- 
hemia. Prague  was  hi ; first  mark  ; but  the  ulterior  object  was  prob- 
ably Vienna.  At  Prague  lay  Marshal  Brown  with  one  great  army. 
Daun,  the  most  cautious  and  fortunate  of  the  Austrian  captains,  was 
advancing  with  another.  Frederick  determined  to  overwhelm  Brown 
before  Daun  should  arrive.  On  the  sixth  of  May  was  fought,  under 
those  walls  which  a hundred  and  thirty  years  before  had  witnessed 
the  victory  of  the  Catholic  league  and  the  flight  of  the  unhappy  Pala- 
tine, a battle  more  bloody  than  any  which  Europe  sa^v  during  the 
long  interval  between  Malplaquet  and  Eylau.  The  king  and  Prince 
Ferdinand  of  Brunswick  were  distinguished  on  that  day  by  their  valor 
and  exertions.  But  the  chief  glory  was  with  Schwerin.  When  the 
Prussian  infantry  wavered,  the  stout  old  marshal  snatched  the  colors 
from  an  ensign,  and,  waving  them  in  the  air,  led  back  his  regiment 
to  the  charge.  Thus  at  seventy-two  years  of  age  he  fell  in 
the  thickest  of  the  battle,  still  grasping  the  standard  which  bears  the 
black  eagle  on  the  field  argent.  The  victory  remained  with  the  king. 
But  it  had  been  dearly  purchased.  Whole  columns  of  his  bravest 
warriors  had  fallen.  He  admitted  that  he  had  lost  eighteen  thousand 
men.  Of  tlie  enemy,  twenty-four  thousand  had  been  killed,  wounded, 
or  taken. 

Part  of  the  defeated  army  was  shut  up  in  Prague.  Part  fled  to  join 
the  troops  whicli,  under  the  command  of  Daun,  were  now  close  at 
hand.  Frederick  determined  to  jday  over  the  same  game  which  had 
succeeded  at  Lowositz.  He  left  a large  force  to  besiege  Prague,  and 
at  the  head  of  thirty  thousand  men  he  marched  against  Daun.  The 
cautious  marshal,  though  he  had  great  superiority  in  numbers,  would 
risk  nothing.  He  occupied  at  Kolin  a position  almost  impregnable, 
and  awaited  the  attack  of  the  king. 

It  was  the  18th  of  June — a day  which,  if  the  Greek  superstition 
still  relamed  its  influence,  would  be  held  sacred  to  Nemesis — a day 
on  which  the  two  greatest  princes  and  soldiers  of  modern  times  were 
taught  by  terrible  experience  that  neither  skill  nor  valor  can  fix  the 
inconstancyjaf  fortune.  The  battle  began  before  noon  ; and  part  of 
the  Prussian  army  maintained  the  contest  till  after  the  midsummer 
sun  had  gone  down.  But  at  length  the  king  found  that  his  troops, 
having  been  repeatedly  driven  back  with  frightful  carnage,  could  no 
longer  be  led  to  the  charge.  He  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  quit 
the  field.  The  officers  of  his  personal  staff  were  under  the  necessity 
of  expostulating  with  him,  and  one  of  them  t*ok  the  liberty  to  say. 


44 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


“ Does  Your  Majesty  mean  to  storm  the  batteries  alone  ?”  Thirteen 
thousand  of  his  bravest  followers  had  perished.  Xothing  remained 
for  him  but  to  retreat  in  good  order,  to  raise  the  siege  of  Prague,  and 
to  hurry  his  army  by  different  routes  out  of  Bohemia. 

This  stroke  seemed  to  be  final.  Frederick’s  situation  had  at  best 
been  such,  that  only  an  uninterrupted  run  of  good  luck  could  save 
him,  as  it  seemed,  from  ruin.  And  now,  almost  in  the  outset  of  the 
contest,  he  had  met  with  a check  which,  even  in  a war  between  equal 
powers,  would  have  been  felt  as  serious.  He  had  owed  much  to  the 
opinion  which  all  Europe  entertained  of  his  army.  Since  his  acces- 
sion, his  soldiers  had  in  many  successive  battles  been  victorious  over 
the  Austrians.  But  the  glory  had  departed  from  his  arms.  All 
whom  his  malevolent  sarcasms  Lad  wounded  made  haste  to  avenge 
themselves  by  scoffing  at  the  scoffer.  His  soldiers  had  ceased  to  con- 
fide in  his  star.  In  every  part  of  his  camp  his  dispositions  were 
severely  criticised.  Even  in  his  own  family  he  had  detractors.  His 
next  brother  William,  heir-presumptive,  or  rather,  in  truth,  heir-ap- 
parent to  the  throne,  and  gre.it-grandfather  of  the  present  king, 
could  not  refrain  from  lamenting  his  own  fate  and  that  of  the  house 
of  Ilohenzollern,  once  so  great  and  so  prosperous,  but  now,  by  the 
rash  ambition  of  its  chief,  made  a by- word  to  all  nations.  These  com- 
plaints, and  some  blunders  which  William  committed  during  the  re- 
treat from  Bohemia,  called  forth  the  bitter  displeasure  of  the  inex- 
orable king.  The  prince’s  heart  was  broken  by  the  cutting  reproaches 
of  his  brother  ; he  quitted  the  army,  retired  to  a country  seat,  and  in  a 
short  time  died  of  shame  and  vexation. 

It  seemed  that  the  king’s  distress  could  hardly  be  increased.  Yet 
at  this  moment  another  blow  not  less  terrible  than  that  of  KolLn  fell 
upon  him.  The  French  under  Marshal  D’Estrees  had  invaded  Ger- 
many. The  Duke  of  Cumberland  had  given  them  battle  at  Has*«m- 
beck,  and  had  been  defeated.  In  order  to  save  the  Electorate  of  Han- 
over from  entire  subjugation,  he  had  made,  at  Clostern  Severn,  an  ar- 
rangement with  the  French  generals,  which  left  them  at  liberty  to 
turn  their  arms  against  the  Prussian  dominions. 

That  nothing  might  be  wanting  to  Frederick’s  distress,  he  lost  liis 
mother  just  at  this  time  ; and  he  appears  to  have  felt  the  loss  more 
than  was  to  be  expected  from  the  hardness  and  severity  of  his  char- 
acter. In  truth,  his  misfortunes  had  now  cut  to  the  quick.  The 
mocker,  the  t}-rant,  the  most  rigorous,  the  most  imperious,  the  most 
cynical  of  men,  was  very  unhappy.  His  face  was  so  haggard  and 
his  form  so  thin,  that  when  on  his  return  from  Bohemia  he  passed 
through  Leipsic,  the  people  hardly  knew  him  again.  His  sleep  was 
broken  ; the  tears  in  spite  of  himself  often  started  into  his  eyes  ; and 
the  grave  began  to  present  itself  to  his  agitated  mind  as  the  best  ref- 
uge from  misery  and  dishonor.  His  resolution  was  fixed  never  to  be 
taken  alive,  and  never  to  imike  peace  on  condition  of  descending  from 
his  place  among  the  powers  of  Europe.  He  saw  nothing  left  for  him 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


45 


excfipt  to  die  ; and  he  deliberately  chose  his  mode  of  death.  He 
always  carried  about  with  him  a sure  and  speedy  poison  in  a small 
glass  case  ; and  to  the  few  in  whom  he  placed  conhdeuce  he  made  no 
mystery  of  his  resolution. 

But  we  should  very  imperfectly  describe  the  state  of  Frederick’s 
mind,  if  we  left  out  of  view  the  laughable  peculiarities  which  con 
trusted  so  singularly  with  the  gravity,  energy,  and  harshness  of  his 
character.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  tragic  or  the  comic  pre- 
dominated in  the  strsmge  scene  which  was  then  acted.  In  the  midst 
of  all  the  great  king’s  calamities,  liis  passion  for  writing  indifferent 
poetry  grew  stronger  and  stronger.  Enemies  all  around  him,  des])air 
in  his  heart,  pil.s  of  corrosive  sublimate  hidden  in  his  clothes,  he 
poured  forth  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  lines,  hateful  to  gods  and 
men — the  insipid  dregs  of  Voltaire’s  Hippocrene — the  faint  echo  of 
the  lyre  of  Chaulieu.  It  is  amusing  to  compare  what  he  did  during 
the  last  months  of  1757  with  what  he  wrote  during  the  same  time. 
It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  equal  portion  of  the  life  of  Hannibal, 
of  Ciesar,  or  of  Napoleon,  will  bear  a comparison  with  that  short 
period,  tlie  most  brilliant  in  the  history  of  Prussia  and  of  Frederick. 
Yet  at  this  very  time  the  scanty  leisure  of  the  illustrious  warrior  was 
employed  in  producing  odes  and  epistles,  a little  better  than  Cibber’s, 
and  a little  worse  than  Hayley’s.  Here  and  there  a manly  sentiment, 
which  deserves  to  be  in  prose,  malses  its  appearance  in  company  with 
Prometheus  and  Orpheus,  Elysium  and  Acheron,  the  plaintive  Philo- 
mel, the  poppies  of  Morpheus,  and  all  the  other  frippery  which,  like  a 
robe  tossed  by  a proud  beauty  to  her  waiting-women,  has  long  been 
contemptuously  abandoned  by  genius  to  mediocrity.  V'e  hardly 
know  any  instance  of  the  strength  and  weakness  of  human  nature  so 
striking  and  so  grotesque  as  the  character  of  this  haughty,  vigilant, 
resolute,  sagacious  blue-.stocking,  half  Mithridates  and  half  Trissotiu, 
bearing  up  against  a world  in  arms,  with  an  ounce  of  poison  ia  one 
pocket  and  a quire  of  bad  verses  in  the  other. 

Frederick  had  some  time  before  made  advances  towards  a recon- 
ciliation with  Voltaire,  and  some  civil  letters  had  passed  between 
them.  After  the  battle  of  Koliu  their  epistolary  intercourse  became, 
at  least  in  seeming,  friendly  and  confidential.  We  do  not  know  any 
collection  of  letters  which  throw  so  much  light  on  the  darkest  and 
most  intricate  parts  of  human  nature  as  the  correspondence  of  these 
strange  beings  after  they  had  exchanged  forgiveness.  Both  felt  that 
the  quarrel  had  lowered  them  in  the  public  estimation.  They  ad- 
mired each  other.  They  stood  in  need  of  each  other.  The  great 
king  wished  to  be  handed  down  to  posterity  by  the  great  writer. 
The  great  writer  felt  himself  exalted  by  the  homage  of  the  great 
king.  Yet  the  wounds  which  they  had  inflicted  on  each  other 
were  too  deep  to  be  effaced,  or  even  perfectly  healed.  Not  only  did 
the  scars  remain  ; the  sore  places  often  festered  and  bled  afresh. 

The  letters  consisted  for  the  most  part  of  compliments,  thanks. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


4fi 

offers  of  service,  assurances  of  attacliment.  But  if  anytliing  Brought 
back  to  Frederick’s  recollection  the  cunning  and  mischievous  ]>ranks 
l)y  which  Voltaire  had  provoked  him,  some  expression  of  contempt 
and  displeasure  broke  forth  in  the  midst  of  his  eulogy.  It  was  much 
worse  when  anything  recalled  to  the  mind  of  Voltaire  the  outrages 
which  he  and  his  kinswoman  had  suffered  at  Frankfort.  All  at  once 
his  flowing  panegyric  is  turned  into  invective.  “ Remember  how  you 
behaved  to  me.  For  your  sake  I have  lost  ^he  favor  of  my  king. 
For  your  sake  I am  an  exile  from  my  country.  I loved  you. 
I trusted  myself  to  you.  I had  no  -wish  but  to  end  m}'  life  in 
your  service.  And  what  was  my  reward  ? Stripped  of  all  you 
had  bestowed  on  me,  the  key,  the  order,  the  pension,  I was  forced  to 
fly  from  your  territories.  I was  hunted  as  if  I had  been  a deserter 
from  your  grenadiers.  I was  arrested,  insulted,  plmidered.  My 
niece  was  dragged  in  the  mud  of  Frankfort  by  your  soldiers  as  if  she 
had  been  some  wretched  follower  of  your  camp.  You  have  great 
talents.  You  have  good  qualities.  But  you  have  one  odious  vice. 
You  delight  in  the  abasement  of  your  fellow-creatures.  You  have 
brought  disgrace  on  the  name  of  philosopher.  You  have  given  some 
color  to  the  slanders  of  the  bigots  who  say  that  no  confidence  can  l)e 
placed  in  the  justice  or  humanity  of  those  who  reject  the  t'hri.stian 
faith.”  Then  the  king  answers  with  less  heat,  but  with  equal  sever- 
ity : “You  know  that  you  behaved  shamefully  in  Prussia.  It  is  well 
for  you  that  you  had  to  deal  with  a man  so  indulgent  to  the  infirm- 
ities of  genius  as  I am.  You  richly  deserved  to  see  the  inside  of  a 
dungeon.  Your  talents  are  not  more  widely  known  than  your  faith- 
lessness and  your  malevolence.  The  grave  itself  is  no  asylum  from 
your  spite.  Maupertuis  is  dead  ; but  you  still  go  on  calumni.ating 
and  deriding  him,  as  if  you  had  not  made  him  miserable  enough  while 
he  was  living.  Let  us  have  no  more  of  this.  And,  above  all,  let  me 
hear  no  more  of  your  niece.  I am  sick  to  death  of  her  name.  1 can 
bear  with  your  faults  for  the  sake  of  your  merits  ; but  she  has  not 
written  Mahomet  or  Merope.” 

An  explosion  of  tliis  kind,  it  might  be  supposed,  would  necessarily 
put  an  end  to  all  amicable  communication.  But  it  was  not  so.  After 
every  outbreak  of  ill-humor  this  extraordinary  pair  became  more  lov- 
ing than  before,  and  exchanged  compliments  and  assurances  of  mutual 
regard  with  a wonderful  air  of  sincerity. 

It  ma}'  well  be  supposed  that  men  who  wrote  thus  to  each  other 
were  not  very  guarded  in  what  they  said  of  each  other.  The  English 
ambassador.  Mitchell,  who  knew  that  the  King  of  Prussia  was  con- 
stantly writing  to  Voltaire  with  the  greatest  freedom  on  the  most  im- 
]5ortant  subjects,  was  amazed  to  hear  His  Majesty  designate  this 
liighly-favored  correspondent  as  a bad-hearted  fellow,  the  greatest 
rascal  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  And  the  language  which  the  poet 
held  about  the  king  was  not  much  more  respectful. 

It  would  probably  have  puzzled  Voltaire  himself  to  say  what  was 


FKEDEPJCK  THE  GREAT. 


47 


"lis  real  feeling  towards  Frederick.  It  was  compounded  of  all  tienti- 
meuts,  from  enmity  to  friendship,  and  from  scorn  to  admiration  ; and 
the  proportions  in  which  these  elements  were  mixed  changed  every 
moment.  The  old  patriarch  resembled  the  spoilt  child  who  screams, 
stamps,  cuffs,  laughs,  kisses,  and  cuddles  within  one-quart.er  of  an 
hour.  His  resentment  was  not  extinguished  ; yet  he  was  not  without 
sympathy  for  his  old  friend.  As  a Frenchman,  he  wished  success  to 
the  arms  of  his  country.  As  a philosopher,  he  was  anxious  for  the 
stability  of  a throne  on  which  a philosopher  sat.  He  longed  both  to 
save  and  to  humble  Frederick.  There  was  one  way,  and  only  one,  in 
winch  all  his  conflicting  feelings  could  at  once  be  gratified.  If  Fred- 
erick were  preserv(‘d  by  the- interference  of  France,  if  it  were  known 
that  for  that  interference  he  was  indebted  to  the  mediation  of  Vol 
taire,  this  would  indeed  be  delicious  revenge  ; this  would  indeed  be  to 
heap  coals  of  fii-e  on  that  haughty  head.  Nor  did  the  vain  and  rest 
less  poet  think  it  im])ossible  that  he  might,  from  his  hermitage  near 
the  Alps,  dictate  peace  to  Europe.  D’Estrees  had  quitted  Hanover, 
and  the  command  of  the  French  army  had  been  entrusted  to  the  Duke 
of  Richelieu,  a man  whose  chief  distinction  was  derived  from  his 
success  in  gallantry.  Richelieu  was,  in  truth,  the  most  eminent  of 
that  race  of  seducers  by  profession  who  furnished  Crebillion  the 
younger  and  La  Clos  with  models  for  their  heroes.  In  his  earlier 
days  the  royal  house  itself  had  not  been  secure  from  his  presumptu 
ous  love.  He  was  believed  to  have  carried  his  conquests  into  the 
family  of  Orleans  ; and  some  suspected  that  he  was  not  unconcerned 
in  the  mysterious  remorse  which  imbittered  the  last  hours  of  the 
charming  mother  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth.  But  the  duke  was  now  fifty 
years  old.  With  a heart  deeply  corrupted  by  vice,  a head  long  ac- 
customed to  think  only  on  trifles,  an  impaired  constitution,  an  im- 
paired fortune,  and,  worst  of  all,  a very  red  nose,  he  was  entering  on 
a dull,  frivolous,  and  unrespected  old  age.  Without  one  qualification 
for  military  command  except  that  personal  courage  which  was  com- 
mon to  him  aird  the  whole  irobility  of  France,  he  had  been  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  army  of  Hanover  ; and  in  that  situation  he  did  his 
best  to  repair,  by  extortion  and  corruptioir,  the  injury  which  he  had 
done  to  his  property  by  a li  fe  of  dissolute  profusion. 

The  Duke  of  Richelieu  to  the  end  of  his  life  hated  the  philosophers 
as  a sect — not  for  those  parts  of  their  system  which  a good  and  wise 
man  would  have  condemned,  but  for  their  vii'tues,  for  their  spirit  of 
free  inquiry,  and  for  their  hatred  of  those  social  abuses  of  which  ho 
was  himself  the  personification.  But  he,  like  many  of  those  who 
thought  with  him,  excepted . Voltaire  from  the  list  of  proscrilred 
writers.  He  frequently  sent  flattering  letters  to  Ferney.  He  did  the 
patriarch  the  honor  to  borrow  money  of  him,  and  even  carried  his 
condescending  friendship  so  far  as  to  forget  to  pay  interest.  Voltaire 
thought  that  it  might  be  in  his  power  to  bring  the  duke  and  the  King 
of  Prussia  into  communication  with  each  other.  He  wrote  earnestly 


48 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


to  Loth  ; and  he  so  far  succeeded  tliat  a correspondence  between  them 
was  commenced 

But  it  was  to  very  different  means  that  Frederick  was  to  owe  his  de 
liverance.  At  the  beginning  of  November,  the  net  seemed  to  have 
closed  completely  round  him.  The  Russians  were  in  the  field,  and 
were  spreading  devastation  through  his  eastern  provinces.  Silesia 
was  overrun  liy  the  Austrians.  A great  French  army  was  advancing 
from  the  west  under  the  command  of  Marshal  Soubise,  a prince  of  tlie 
great  Armorican  house  of  Rohan.  Berlin  itself  had  been  taken  and 
olundered  by  the  Croatians.  Such  was  the  situation  from  which 
Frederick  extricated  himself,  with  dazzling  glory,  in  the  short  space 
of  thirty  days. 

He  marched  first  against  Soubise.  On  the  5th  of  November  the 
armies  met  at  Rosbach.  The  French  were  two  to  one  ; but  they  were 
ilhdisciplined,  and  their  general  was  a dunce.  The  tactics  of  Freder- 
ick and  the  well-regulated  valor  of  the  Prussian  troops  obtained  a 
complete  victory.  Seven  thousand  of  the  invaders  were  made  pris- 
oners. Their  guns,  their  colors,  their  baggage,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  conquerors.  Those  who  escaped  fled  as  confusedly  as  a mob  scat- 
tered by  cavalry.  Victorious  in  the  west,  the  king  turned  his  anus 
towards  Silesia.  In  that  quarter  everj’thing  seemed  to  be  lo.st.  Bres- 
lau had  fallen  ; and  Charles  of  Lorraine,  with  a mighty  power,  held 
the  whole  province.  On  the  5th  of  December,  exactly  one  month  af- 
ter the  battle  of  Rosbach,  Frederick,  with  forty  thousand  men,  and 
Prince  Charles,  at  the  head  of  not  less  than  sixty  thousand,  met  at 
Leuthen  hard  by  Breslau.  The  king,  who  was,  in  general,  perhaps 
too  much  inclined  to  consider  the  common  soldier  as  a mere  machine, 
resorted,  on  this  great  da}’,  to  means  resembling  those  which  Bona- 
parte afterwards  employed  with  such  signal  success  for  the  purpose 
of  stimulating  military  enthusiasm.  The  principal  officers  were  con- 
voked. Frederick  addressed  them  with  great  force  and  pathos,  and 
directed  them  to  speak  to  their  men  as  he  had  spoken  to  them.  When 
the  armies  were  set  in  battle  array,  the  Prussian  troops  were  in  a 
state  of  fierce  excitement ; but  their  excitement  showed  itself  after 
the  fashion  of  a grave  people.  The  columns  advanced  to  the  attack 
chanting,  to  the  sound  of  drums  and  fifes,  the  rude  hymns  of  the  old 
Saxon  Herhholds.  They  had  never  fought  so  well  ; nor  had  the 
genius  of  their  chief  ever  been  so  conspicuous.  “ That  battle,"  said 
Napoleon,  “was  a masterpiece.  Of  itself  it  is  sufficient  to  entitle 
Frederick  to  a place  in  the  first  rank  among  generals.”  The  victory 
was  complete.  Twenty-seven  thousand  Austrians  were  killed,  wounded 
or  taken  ; fifty  stand  of  color's,  a hundred  guns,  four  thousand  wagons, 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Prussians.  ■ Breslau  opened  its  gates  ; Si- 
lesia was  reconquered  ; Charles  of  Ijorraine  retired  to  hide  his  shame 
and  sorrow  at  Brussels ; and  Frederick  allowed  his  troops  to  take 
.some  repose  in  winter  quarters,  after  a campaign  to  the  vicissitudes 
of  which  it  will  be  difficult  to  find  any  parallel  in  ancient  or  modern 
history. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


49 


The  king's  fame  filled  all  the  world.  He  had,  during  the  last  year, 
maintained  a contest,  on  terms  of  advantage,  against  three  powers, 
the  weakest  of  which  had  more  than  three  times  his  resources.  He 
had  fought  four  great  pitched  battles  against  superior  forces.  Three 
of  these  battles  he  had  gained  ; and  the  defeat  of  Koliu,  repaired  as 
it  had  been,  rather  raised  than  lowered  his  military  renown.  The 
victory  of  Leuthen  is,  to  this  day,  the  proudest  on  the  roll  of  Prus- 
sian fame.  Leipsic,  indeed,  and  Waterloo,  produced  more  important 
consequences  to  mankind.  But  the  glory  of  Leipsic  must  be  shared 
by  the  Prussians  with  the  Austrians  and  Russians  ; and  at  Waterloo 
the  British  infantry  bore  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day.  The  vic- 
tory of  Rosbacli  was,  in  a military  point  of  view,  less  honorable  than 
that  of  Leuthen,  for  it  was  gained  over  an  incapable  general  and  a 
disorganized  army.  But  the  moral  effect  which  it  produced  was  im- 
mense. All  tlie  preceding  triumphs  of  Frederick  had  been  triumphs 
over  Gennans,  and  could  excite  no  emotions  of  natural  pride  among 
the  German  jieople.  It  was  impossible  that  a Hessian  or  a Hanoverian 
could  feel  any  patriotic  excitation  at  hearing  that  Pomeranians 
slaughtered  Moravians,  or  that  Saxon  banners  had  been  hung  in  the 
churches  of  Berlin.  Indeed,  though  the  military  character  of  the 
Germans  justly  stood  high  throughout  the  world,  they  could  boast  of 
no  great  day  which  belonged  to  them  as  a people  ; — of  no  Agincourt, 
of  no  Bannockburn.  Most  of  their  victories  had  been  gained  over 
each  other  ; and  their  most  splendid  exploits  against  foreigners  had 
been  achieved  under  the  command  of  Eugene,  who  was  himself  a 
foreigner. 

The  news  of  the  battle  of  Rosbach  stirred  the  blood  of  the  whole 
of  the  mighty  population  from  the  Alps  to  the  Baltic,  and  from  the 
borders  of  Courtland  to  those  of  Lorraine.  Westphalia  and  Lower 
Saxony  had  been  deluged  by  a great  host  of  strangers,  whose  speech 
was  unintelligible,  and  whose  petulant  and  licentious  manners  had 
excited  the  strongest  feelings  of  disgust  and  hatred.  That  great  host 
had  been  put  to  flight  by  a small  baud  of  German  warriors,  led  by  a 
prince  of  German  blood  on  the  side  of  father  and  mother,  and  marked 
by  the  fair  hair  and  the  clear  blue  eye  of  Germany.  Never  since  the 
dissolution  of  the  empire  of  Charlemagne  had  the  Teutonic  race  won 
such  a field  against  the  French.  The  tidings  called  forth  a general 
burst  of  delight  and  pride  from  the  whole  of  the  great  family  which 
spoke  the  various  dialects  of  the  ancient  language  of  Arminius.  The 
fame  of  Frederick  began  to  supply,  in  some  degree,  the  place  of  a 
common  government  and  of  a common  capital.  It  became  a rallying 
point  for  all  true  Germans — a subject  of  mutual  congratulations  to 
the  Bavarian  and  the  Westphalian,  to  the  citizen  of  Frankfort  and  the 
citizen  of  Nuremburg.  Then  first  it  was  manifest  that  the  Geimans 
were  truly  a nation.  Then  first  was  discernible  that  patriotic  spirit 
which,  in  1813,  achieved  the  great  deliverance  of  central  Europe,  and 
which  still  guards,  and  long  wiU  guard  against  foreign  ambition,  the 
old  freedom  of  the  Rhine. 


50 


FKEDERICK  THE  CfKEAT. 


Nor  were  the  effects  produced  by  that  celebrated  day  merely  politi 
cal.  The  greatest  masters  of  Genuau  poetry  and  eloquence  have  ad- 
mitted that,  though  the  great  king  neither  valued  nor  understood  his 
native  language,  though  he  looked  on  Fj-ance  as  the  only  seat  of  tiuste 
and  philosophy,  yet,  in  his  own  despite,  he  did  much  to  emancipate 
the  genius  of  his  countrymen  from  the  foreign  yoke  ; and  that,  in 
the  act  of  van<iuishing  Soubise,  he  was  unintentionally  rousing  the 
spirit  which  soon  began  to  question  the  literary  precedence  of  Boileau 
and  Voltaire.  So  strangely  do  events  confound  all  the  j)lans  of  man  ! 
A prince  who  read  onlj'  French,  who  wrote  only  French,  who  ranked 
as  a French  cla.ssic,  became,  quite  unconsciously,  the  means  of  liberat- 
ing half  the  Continent  from  the  dominion  of  that  French  criticism  of 
whicli  he  was  himself  to  the  end  of  his  life  a slave.  Yet  even  the' 
enthusiasm  of  Germany  in  favor  of  Frederick  hardly  equalled  the 
enthusiasm  of  England.  The  birthday  of  our  ally  was  celebrated 
with  as  much  enthusiasm  as  that  of  our  own  sovereign,  and  at  night 
the  streets  of  London  were  in  a blaze  with  illuminations.  Portraits 
of  the  Hero  of  Rosbach,  with  his  cocked  hat  and  long  pigtail,  were 
in  every  house.  An  attentive  observer  will,  at  this  day,  hud  in  the 
pallors  of  old-fashioned  inns,  and  in  the  portfolios  of  printsellers, 
twenty  portraits  of  Frederick  for  one  of  George  II.  The  sign-paint 
ers  were  everywhere  employed  in  touching  up  Admiral  Vernon  into 
the  King  of  Prussia.  Some  young  Englishmen  of  rank  proposed  to 
visit  Germany  as  volunteers,  for  the  purpose  of  learning  the  art  of 
war  under  the  greatest  of  (.ommanders.  This  last  proof  of  British 
attachment  and  admiration  Frederick  politely  but  firmly  declined. 
His  camp  was  no  place  for  amateur  students  of  militarj"  science.  The 
Prussian  discipline  was  rigorous  even  to  cruelty.  The  officers,  while 
in  the  field,  were  expected  to  practice  an  abstemiousness  and  self-de- 
nial such  as  was  hardly  surpassed  by  the  most  rigid  monastic  orders. 
However  noble  their  birth,  however  high  their  rank  in  the  service, 
they  were  not  permitted  to  eat  from  anything  better  than  pe\vter.  It 
was  a high  crime  even  in  a count  and  field-marshal  to  have  a single 
silver  spoon  among  his  baggage.  Gay  young  Englislimen  of  twenty 
thousand  a year,  accustomed  to  libert}'  and  to  luxury,  would  not  easi- 
ly submit  to  these  Sjrartan  restraints.  The  king  could  not  venture 
to  keep  them  in  order  as  he  kept  his  own  subjects  in  order.  Situ- 
ated as  he  was  with  respect  to  England,  he  could  not  well  imprison 
or  shoot  refractory  Howards  and  Cavendishes.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  example  of  a few'  fine  gentlemen,  attended  by  chariots  and  liviTy 
servants,  eating  in  plate,  and  drinking  champagne  and  toky,  was 
enough  to  corrupt  his  whole  army.  He  thought  it  best  to  make  a 
stand  at  first,  and  civilly  refused  to  admit  such  dangerous  companions 
among  his  troops. 

The  help  of  England  was  bestow'ed  in  a manner  far  more  useful 
and  more  acceptable.  An  annual  subsidy  of  near  seven  hundred 
thousand  pounds  enabled  the  kmg  to  add  probably  more  than  fifty 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


51 


thousand  men  to  his  aiiny.  Pitt,  now  at  the  heiglit  of  power  and 
popularity,  undertook  the  task  of  defending  Western  Germany 
against  France,  and  asked  Frederick  only  for  the  loan  of  a general. 
The  general  selected  was  Prince  Ferdinand  of  Brunswick,  who  hatl 
attained  high  distinction  iirtlTeYrussiau  service  Tie  was  put  at  the 
head  of  an  army,  partly  English,  partly  Hanoverian,  partly  composed 
of  mercenaries  hired  from  the  petty  princes  of  the  empire.  He  soon 
vindicated  the  choice  of  the  two  allied  courts,  and  proved  himself  the 
second  general  of  the  age. 

Frederick  passed  the  winter  at  Breslau,  in  reading,  writing,  and 
pre])aring  for  the  next  campaign.  The  havoc  wliich  the  war  had 
made  among  his  troops  was  rapidly  repaired,  and  in  the  spring  of 
1758  he  was  again  ready  for  the  conflict.  Prince  Ferdinand  kept  flie 
French  in  check.  The  king,  in  the  meantime,  after  attempting 
against  the  Austrians  some  operations  which  led  to  no  very  important 
result,  marched  to  encounter  the  Russians,  who,  slaying,  hurning, 
and  wasting  whatever  they  turned,  had  penetrated  into  the  heart  of 
his  realm.  He  gave  them  battle  at  Zorndorf,  near  Frankfort  on  the 
Oder.  The  fight  was  long  and  bloody.  Quarter  was  neither  given 
nor  taken  ; for  the  Germans  and  Scythians  regarded  each  other  with 
bitter  av'ersiou,  and  the  sight  of  the  ravages  committed  by  the  half- 
savage mvaders  had  incensed  the  king  and  his  army.  The  Russians 
were  overthrown  with  great  slaughter,  and  for  a few  months  no  fur- 
ther danger  was  to  be  apprehended  from  the  east. 

A day  of  thanksgiving  was  pro.laimed  by  the  king,  and  was  cele- 
brated with  pride  and  delight  by  his  people.  The  rejoicings  in  Eng- 
land were  not  less  enthusiastic  or  less  sincere.  This  may  be  selected 
as  the  point  of  time  at  which  the  military  glory  of  Frederick  reached 
the  zenith.  In  the  short  space  of  three-quarters  of  a year  he  had 
won  three  great  battles  over  the  armies  of  three  mighty  and  warlike 
monarchies — France,  Austria,  and  Russia. 

But  it  was  decreed  that  the  temper  of  that  strong  mind  should  be 
tried  by  both  extremes  of  fortune  in  rapid  succession.  Close  upon 
this  bright  series  of  triumphs  came  a series  of  disasters,  such  as  would 
have  blighted  the  fame  and  Isii-oken  the  heart  of  almost  anj^  other 
commander.  Yet  Frederick,  in  the  midst  of  his  calamities,  was  still 
an  object  of  admiration  to  liA  subjects,  his  allies,  and  his  enemies. 
Overwhelmed  by  adversity,  sick  of  life,  he  still  maintained  the  con- 
test, greater  in  defeat,  in  flight,  and  in  what  seemed  hopeless  ruin, 
than  on  the  fields  of  his  proudest  victories. 

Having  vanquished  the  Russians,  he  hastened  into  Saxony  to  op- 
pose the  troops  of  the  Empress-Queen,  commanded  by  Daun,  the 
most  cautious,  and  Laudohn,  the  most  inventive  and  enterprising  of 
her  generals.  These  two  celebrated  commanders  agreed  on  a scheme, 
in  which  the  prudence  of  the  one  and  the  vigor  of  the  other  seem  to 
have  happily  combined.  At  dead  of  night  they  surprised  the  king  in 
his  camp  at  Hochkirchen.  His  presence  of  mind  saved  his  troops 


5a 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


from  destruction,  but  nothing  could  save  tliem  from  defeat  and  severe 
loss.  Marshal  Keith  was  among  the  slain.  Tlie  first  roar  of  the  guns 
roused  the  noble  exile  from  his  rest,  and  he  was  instantly  in  the  front 
of  the  battle.  He  received  a dangerous  wou  id,  but  refused  to  quit 
the  field,  and  was  in  the  act  of  rallying  his  broken  troops,  when  an 
Austrian  bullet  terminated  his  checkered  and  eventful  life. 

The  misfortune  was  serious.  But,  of  all  generals,  Frederick  un- 
derstood best  how  to  repair  defeat,  and  Daun  understood  least  how  to 
improve  victory.  In  a few  days  the  Prussian  army  was  as  formid 
able  as  before  the  battle.  The  prospect  was,  however,  gloomy  An 
Austrian  army  under  General  Harsch  had  invaded  Silesia,  and  in 
ve.sted  the  fortress  or  Neisse.  Daun,  after  his  success  at  Hochkirchen, 
had  written  to  Harsch  in  very  confident  terms  : “Go  on  with  your 
operations  again.st  Neisse.  Be  quite  at  ease  as  to  the  king.  I will 
give  you  a good  account  of  him.”  In  truth,  the  position  of  the  Prus- 
sians was  full  of  dilliculties.  Between  them  and  Silesia  lay  the  vic- 
torious army  of  Daun.  It  was  not  easy  for  them  to  reach  Silesia  at 
all.  If  they  did  reach  it,  they  left  Saxony  exposed  to  the  Austrians. 
But  the  vigor  and  activity  of  Frederick  surmounted  every  obstacle. 
He  made  a circuitous  march  of  extraordinay  rapidity,  passed  Daun, 
hastened  into  Silesia,  raised  the  seige  of  Neisse,  and  drove  Harsch 
into  Bohemia.  Daun  availed  himself  of  the  king’s  absence  to  attack 
Dresden.  The  Prussians  defended  it  desperately.  The  inhabitants 
of  that  wealthy  and  polished  capital  begged  in  vain  for  mercy  from 
the  garrison  within  and  from  the  beseigers  without.  The  beautiful 
suburbs  were  burned  to  the  ground.  It  was  clear  that  the  town,  if  won 
at  all,  would  be  won  street  by  street  by  the  bayonet.  At  this  con- 
juncture came  news  that  Frederick,  having  cleared  Silesia  of  his  ene- 
mies, was  returning  by  forced  marches  into  Saxony.  Daun  retired 
from  before  Dresden  and  fell  back  into  the  Austrian  territories.  The 
king,  over  heaps  of  ruins,  made  his  triumphant  entry  into  the  un- 
happy metropolis,  which  had  so  cruelly  expiated  the  weak  and  perfid- 
ious policy  of  its  sovereign.  It  was  now  the  20th  of  November. 
'I'he  cold  weather  suspended  military  operations,  and  the  king  again 
took  up  his  winter-quarters  at  Breslau. 

'I'he  third  of  the  seven  terrible  years  was  over,  and  Frederick  still 
stood  his  ground.  He  had  been  recently  tried  by  domestic  as  well  as 
Oy  military  disasters.  On  the  14th  of  October,  the  day  on  which  he 
was  defeated  at  Hochkirchen,  the  day  on  the  anniversary  of  which, 
forty  eight  years  later,  a defeat  far  more  tremendous  laid  the  Prus- 
sian monarchy  in  the  dust,  died  Wilhelmina,  Margravine  of  Bareuth. 
From  the  portraits  which  we  have  of  her,  by  her  o-wn  han  I,  and  by 
the  hands  of  the  most  discerning  of  her  contemporaries,  we  should 
pronounce  her  to  have  been  coarse,  indelicate,  and  a good  hater,  but 
not  destitute  of  kind  and  generous  feelings.  Her  mind,  naturally 
Strong  and  observant,  had  been  highly  cultivated  ; and  she  was,  and 
deserved  to  be,  Frederick’s  favorite  sister  lie  felt  the  loss  as  much 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


53 


as  it  was  in  his  iron  nature  to  feel  the  loss  of  anything  but  a province 
or  a battle. 

At  Breslau  daring  the  winter  he  was  indefatigable  in  his  poetical 
labors.  The  most  spirited  lines  perhaps  that  he  ever  wrote  are  to  be 
found  in  a bitter  lampoon  on  Louis  and  Madame  de  Pampadour, 
which  he  composed  at  this  time  and  sent  to  Voltaire.  The  verses 
Were,  indeed,  so  good,  that  Voltaire  was  afraid  that  he  might  himself 
be  suspected  of  having  written  them,  or  at  least  of  having  corrected, 
them  ; and  partly  from  fright — -partly,  we  fear,  from  love  of  mischief 
— sent  them  to  the  Dulie  of  Choiseul,  then  prime  minister  of  France. 
Choiseul  very  wisely  detennined  to  encounter  Frederick  at  Freder- 
ick’s own  weapons,  and  applied  for  assistance  to  Palissot,  who  had 
some  skill  as  a versifier,  and  who,  though  he  had  not  yet  made  him 
self  famous  l)y  bringing  Rousseau  and  Helvetius  on  the  stage,  was 
known  to  possess  some  little  talent  for  satire.  Palissot  produced  some 
very  stinging  lines  on  the  moral  and  literary  character  of  Frederick, 
and  these  lines  the  duke  sent  to  Voltaire.  This  war  of  couplets,  fol- 
lowing close  on  the  carnage  of  Zorndorf  and  the  conflagration  of 
Dresden,  illustrates  well  the  strangely  compounded  character  of  the 
King  of  Prussia. 

At  this  moment  he  was  assailed  by  a new  enemy,  Benedict  XIV. , 
the  best  and  wisest  of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  successoi-s  of  St. 
Peter,  was  no  more.  During  the  short  interval  between  his  reign  and 
that  of  his  disciple  Ganganelli,  the  chief  seat  in  the  Church  of  Rome 
was  filled  by  Rezzonico,  who  took  the  name  of  Clement  XIII.  This 
absurd  priest  detennined  to  try  w at  the  weight  of  his  authority 
could  effect  in  favor  of  the  orthodox  Maria  Theresa  against  a heretic 
king.  At  the  high  mass  on  Christmas-day,  a sword  with  a rich  belt 
and  scabbard,  a hat  of  crimson  velvet  lined  with  ermine,  and  a dove 
of  pearls,  the  mystic  symbol  of  the  Divine  Comforter,  were  solenmly 
blessed  by  the  supreme  pontiff,  and  were  sent  with  great  ceremony  to 
Marshal  Dauu,  the  conqueror  of  Kolin  and  Hochkirchen.  This  mark 
of  favor  had  more  than  once  been  bestowed  by  the  Popes  on  the  great 
champions  of  the  faith.  Similar  honors  had  been  paid,  more  than  six 
centuries  earlier,  by  Urban  II.  to  Godfrey  of  Bouillon.  Similar  hon 
ors  had  been  conferred  on  Alba  for  destroying  the  liberties  of  the  Low 
Countries,  and  on  John  Sobiesky  after  the  deliverance  of  Vienna. 
But  the  presents  which  were  received  with  profound  reverence  by  the 
Baron  of  tiie  Holy  Sepulchre  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  which  had 
not  wholly  lost  their  value  even  in  the  seventeenth  century,  appeared 
inexpressibly  ridiculous  to  a generation  which  read  Montesquieu  and 
Voltaire.  Frederick  wrote  sarcastic  verses  on  the  gifts,  thegiv^er,  and 
the  receiver.  But  the  public  wanted  no  prompter  ; and  a universal 
roar  of  laughter  from  Petersburg  to  Lisbon  reminded  the  Vatican  that 
the  age  of  crusades  w'as  over. 

Tlie  fourth  campaign,  the  most  disastrous  of  all  the  campaigns  nf 
this  fearful  war,  had  now  opened.  The  Austrians  filled  Saxonj',  and 


64 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


menaced  Berlin.  Tlie  Russians  defeated  the  king’s  generals  on  the 
Oder,  threatened  Silesia,  effected  a junction  with  Laudohn,  an<l  in- 
trenched themselves  strongly  at  Kunersdorf.  Frederick  hastened  to 
attack  them.  A great  battle  was  fought.  During  the  earlier  part  of 
the  day  everything  yielded  to  the  impetuosity  of  the  Prussians,  and 
to  the  skill  of  their  chief.  The  lines  were  forced.  Half  the  Russian 
guns  were  taken.  The  king  sent  off  a courier  to  Berlin  with  two 
lines,  announcing  a complete  victory.  But,  in  the  mean  time,  the 
stuhborn  Russians,  defeated  yet  unbroken,  had  taken  up  their  stana 
in  an  almost  impregnable  j)osition,  on  an  eminence  where  the  Jews  of 
Frankfort  were  wont  to  bury  their  dead.  Here  the  battle  re-oni- 
menced.  The  Prussian  infantry,  exhausted  by  six  hours  of  hard 
lighting,  under  a sun  which  equalled  the  trophical  heat,  were  yee 
brought  up  repeatedly  to  the  attack,  but  in  '■•ain.  The  king  led  three 
charges  in  person.  Two  horses  were  killed  imder  him.  The  officers 
of  his  staff  fell  all  around  him.  His  coat  was  pierced  by  several 
bullets.  All  was  in  vain.  His  infantry  wan  driven  back  with  fright- 
ful slaughter.  Terror  began  to  spread  fast  from  man  to  man.  At 
that  moment,  the  fiery  cavalry  of  Laudohn,  still  fresh,  rushed  on  the 
wavering  ranks.  Then  followed  a uni'^ersal  rout.  Frederick  him- 
self was  on  the  point  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  conquerors, 
and  was  with  difficulty  saved  )jy  a gal'aut  officer,  who,  at  the  head  of 
a handful  of  Hussars,  made  good  a diversion  of  a few  minutes. 
Shattered  in  body,  shattered  in  mind,  the  king  reached  that  night  a 
village  which  the  Cossacks  had  plundered  ; and  there,  in  a ruined  and 
deserted  farm-house,  fiuug  himself  on  a heap  of  straw.  He  had 
sent  to  Berlin  a second  dispatch  very  different  from  his  first  : “ I^et 
the  royal  family  leave  Berlin.  Send  the  archives  to  Potsdam.  The 
town  may  make  terms  with  thf  enemy.” 

The  defeat  was  in  truth  overwhelming.  Of  fifty  thousand  men. 
who  had  that  morning  marched  under  the  black  eagles,  not  three 
thousand  remained  togethei.  The  king  bethought  him  again  of  his 
corrosive  sublimate,  and  wrote  to  bid  adieu  to  his  friencLs,  and  to  givt 
directions  as  to  the  measures  to  be  taken  in  the  event  of  his  death 
‘I  have  no  resource  left  ’ — such  is  the  language  of  one  of  his  let 
ters — “ all  is  lost.  I will  not  survive  the  ruin  of  my  country-  Fare 
well,  forever.” 

But  the  mutual  jealousies  of  the  confederates  prevented  them  from 
following  up  their  victory.  They  lost  a few  days  in  loitering  and 
squabbling  ; and  a few  days  improved  by  Frederick  were_wgrth  more 
lhan_the_xear£^_otlIer  luenT  On  tne  morning  after  the  battle,  Im 
had  got  together  eighteen  thousand  of  his  troops.  Very  soon  hi.s 
force  amounted  to  thirty  thousand.  Guns  were  procured  from  the 
neighljoring  fortresses  ; and  there  was  again  an  anny.  Berlin  was, 
for  the  present,  safe  ; but  calamities  came  pouring  on  the  king  in  un- 
interrupted succession.  One  of  his  generals,  with  a large  body  of 
troops,  was  talcen  at  Maxen  ; another  was  defeated  at  Meisen  ; and 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


55 


when  at  length  the  campaign  of  1759  closed,  in  the  midst  of  a rig 
oroiis  winter,  the  situation  Of  Prussia  appeared  desperate.  The  only 
consoling  circumstance  was,  that  in  the  West  Ferdinand  of  Bruns 
wick  had  been  more  fortunate  than  his  master  ; and  by  a series  of  ex 
ploits,  of  wliich  the  battle  of  Minden  was  the  most  glorious,  had  re- 
moved all  api>reheusion  of  danger  on  the  side  of  France. 

The  fifth  year  was  now  about  to  commence.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  the  Prussian  terri  ories,  repeatedly  devasted  by  hundreds  of  thou 
sandsof  invaders,  could  longer  support  the  contest.  But  the  king  car 
ried  on  war  as  no  European  power  has  ever  carried  on  war,  except  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safet}-  during  the  great  agony  of  the  French 
Revolution,  He  governed  liis  kingdom  as  he  would  have  governed  a 
besieged  town,  not  caring  to  what  extent  property  was  destroyed,  or 
the  pursuits  of  civil  life  suspended,  so  that  he  did  hut  make  head 
against  the  enemy  As  long  as  there  was  a man  left  in  Prussia,  that 
man  might  carry  a musket — as  long  as  there  was  a horse  left,  that 
horse  might  draw  artillery  The  coin  was  debased,  the  civil  function 
aries  were  left  unpaid  , in  some  provinces  civil  government  altogether 
ceased  to  exist.  But  there  were  still  rye-bread  and  potatoes  ; there 
were  still  lead  and  gunpowder  ; and,  while  the  means  of  sustaining 
and  clesti-oying  life  remained,  Frederick  was  determined  to  fight  it 
out  to  the  very  last. 

The  earlier  part  of  the  campaign  of  1760  was  unfavorable  to  him. 
Berlin  was  again  occupied  by  the  enemy.  Great  contributions  were 
levied  on  the  inhaliitants,  an  1 the  royal  palace  was  plundered.  But 
at  length,  after  two  year’s  of  calamity,  victory  came  back  to  his  arms. 
At  Lignitz  he  gained  a great  battle  over  Laudohn  ; at  Torg  lu,  after  a 
day  of  horrible  carnage,  he  triumphed  over  Daun.  The  fifth  year 
closed  and  still  the  event  was  in  suspense.  In  the  countries  where 
the  war  had  raged,  the  misery  and  exhaustion  were  nrore  appalling 
than  ever  ; but  still  there  were  left  men  and  beasts,  arms  and  food, 
and  still  Frederick  fought  on.  In  truth  he  had  now  been  baited  into 
savageness.  His  heart  was  ulcerated  with  hatred.  The  implacable 
resentment  with  which  his  enemies  persecuted  him,  though  original ry 
provoked  by  his  own  unprincipled  ambition,  excited  in  him  a thirst 
for  vengeance  which  he  did  not  even  attempt  to  conceal.  “It  is 
hard,”  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters,  “ for  a man  to  bear  what  1 bear 
1 begin  to  feel  that,  as  the  Italians  say,  revenge  is  a pleasure  for  the 
gods  My  philosophy  is  worn  out  by  suffering.  I am  no  saint  like 
those  of  whom  we  read  in  the  legends  , and  I will  own  that  I should 
die  content  if  only  I could  first  inflict  a portion  of  the  misery  which 
I endure.” 

Borne  up  by  such  feelings,  he  struggled  with  various  success,  but 
constant  glory,  through  the  campaign  of  1761.  On  the  whole,  the 
result  of  this  campaign  was  disastrous  to  Prussia.  No  great  battle 
was  gained  by  the  enemy  ; but,  in  spite  of  the  desperate  bounds  of 
the  hunted  tiger,  the  circle  of  pursuers  was  fast  closing  round  him. 


56 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


Laudohn  Iiad  surprised  the  important  fortress  of  Schweidnitz.  With 
that  fortress,  half  of  Silesia  and  the  command  of  the  most  important 
defiles  through  the  mountains,  had  been  transferred  to  the  Austrians. 
The  Russians  had  overpowered  the  king’s  generals  in  Pomerania. 
The  country  was  so  completely  desolated  that  he  began,  by  his  own 
confession,  to  look  round  him  with  blank  despair,  unable  to  imagine 
where  recruits,  horses,  or  provisions  were  to  be  found. 

Just  at  this  time  two  great  events  brought  on  a complete  change  in 
the  relations  of  almost  all  the  powers  of  Europe.  One  of  those 
Events  was  the  retirement  of  Mr  Pitt  from  office  , the  other  was  the 
death  of  the  Empress  Elizabeth  of  Russia. 

The  retirement  of  Pitt  seemed  to  be  an  omen  of  utter  ruin  to  the 
House  of  Brandenburg.  His  proud  and  vehement  nature  was  incapable 
of  anything  uhat  looked  like  either  fear  or  treachery.  He  had  often 
declared  that  while  he  was  in  power,  England  should  never  make  a 
peace  of  Utrecht — should  never,  for  any  selfish  object,  abandon  an 
ally  even  in  the  last  extremity  of  distress.  The  continental  war  was 
his  own  war.  He  had  been  bold  enough — he  who  in  fonuer  times 
had  attacked,  with  irresistible  powers  of  orator}-,  the  Hanoverian 
policy  of  Carteret,  and  the  German  subsidies  of  Newcastle — to  de- 
clare that  Hanover  ought  to  be  as  dear  to  us  as  Hamijshire,  and  that 
he  would  conquer  America  in  Germany.  He  had  fa  len  : and  the 
power  which  he  had  exercised,  not  always  with  discretion,  but  always 
with  vigor  and  genius,  had  devolved  on  a favorite  who  was  the  re]>- 
rescntative  of  the  Tory  party — of  the  party  which  had  thwarted  Wil- 
liam, which  had  persecuted  Marlborough,  and  which  had  given  up 
the  Catalans  to  the  vengeance  of  Philip  of  Anjou.  To  make  peace 
with  France — to  shake  off  with  all,  or  more  than  all,  the  speed  com- 
patible with  decency,  every  Continental  connection,  these  were  among 
the  chief  objects  of  the  new  minister.  The  policy  then  followed  in- 
spired Frederick  with  an  unjust,  but  deep  and  bitter  aversion  to  the 
English  name  ; and  produced  effects  which  are  still  felt  throughout 
the  civilized  world.  To  that  policy  it  was  owing  that,  some  years 
later,  England  could  not  find  on  the  whole  Continent  a single  ally  to 
stand  by  her  in  her  extreme  need  against  the  House  of  Bourbon. 
To  that  policy  it  was  owing  that  Frederick,  alienated  from  England, 
was  compelled  to  connect  himself  closely  during  his  later  years  with 
Russia  ; and  was  induced  reluctantly  to  assist  in  that  great  crime, 
the  fruitful  parent  of  other  great  crimes — the  first  partition  of  Poland. 

Scarcely  had  the  retreat  of  Mr.  Pitt  deprived  Prussia  of  her  only 
friend,  wlven  the  death  of  Elizabeth  produced  an  entire  revolution  in 
the  politics  of  the  North.  The  Grand  Duke  Peter,  her  nephew,  who 
now  ascended  the  Russian  throne,  was  not  merely  free  from  the  prejudi- 
ces which  his  aunt  had  entertained  against  Frederick,  but  was  a wor- 
shipper, a servile  imitator,  a Boswell,  of  the  great  king.  The  days 
of  the  new  czar’s  government  were  few  and  evil,  but  sufficient  to 
produce  a change  in  the  whole  state  of  CTiristendom.  He  set  the 


li'REDERICK  THE  vJREaI 


■J, 


Prussian  prisoners  at  liberty,  fitted  them  out  decently,  an:1  sent  them 
back  to  their  mastc.  , he  withdrew  his  troops  from  the  provinces 
which  Elizabeth  had  decided  on  incorporating  with  her  dominions, 
and  absolved  all  those  Prussian  subjects,  who  had  been  compelled  to 
swear  fealty  to  Russia,  from  their  engagements. 

Not  content  with  concluding  peace  on  terms  favorable  to  Prussia, 
he  solicited  rank  in  the  Prussian  service,  dressed  himself  in  a Prus- 
sian uniform,  wore  the  Black  Eagle  of  Prussia  on  his  breast,  made 
preparations  for  visiting  Prussia,  in  order  to  have  an  interview  with 
the  object  of  his  idolatry,  and  actually  sent  fifteen  thousand  excel- 
lent troops  to  reinforce  the  shattered  army  of  Frederidck.  Thus 
strengthened,  the  king  speedly  repaired  the  losses  of  the  preceding 
year,  reconquered  Silesia,  defeated  Daun  at  Buckersdorf,  invested 
and  retook  Schweidnitz,  and,  at  the  close  of  the  j^ear,  pre  ented  to 
the  forces  of  Maria  Theresa  a front  as  formidable  as  before  the  great 
reverses  of  1750.  Before  the  end  of  the  campaign,  his  friend  the 
Emperor  Peter  having,  by  a series  of  absurd  insults  to  the  in- 
stitutions, manners,  and  feelings  of  his  people,  united  them  in 
hostility  to  his  person  and  government,  was  deposed  and  murdered. 
The  empress,  who  under  the  title  of  Catherine  the  Second,  now  as 
sumed  the  supreme  power,  was  at  the  commencement  of  her  admin- 
istration, by  no  means  partial  to  Frederick,  and  refused  to  permit 
her  troops  to  remain  under  his  command.  But  she  observed  the 
peace  made  b_v  her  husband  ; and  Prussia  was  no  longer  threatened 
by  danger  from  the  East. 

England  and  France  at  the  same  time  paired  off  together.  They 
concluded  a treaty  by  which  they  bound  themselves  to  observe  neu 
'.rality  with  respect  to  the  German  war.  Thus  the  coalitions  on  both 
tides  were  dissoU'ed  ; and  the  original  enemies,  Austria  and  Prussia, 
remained  alone  confronting  each  other. 

Austria  had  undoubtedly  by  far  greater  means  than  Prussia,  and 
was  less  exhausted  by  hostilities  ; yet  it  seemed  hardly  possible  tliat 
Austria  could  effect  alone  what  she  had  in  vain  attempted  to  effect 
when  supported  by  France  on  the  one  side,  and  by  Russia  on  the  other. 
Danger  also  began  to  menace  the  imperial  hou.se  from  another  quarter. 
The  Ottoman  Porte  held  threatening  language,  and  a hundred  thou 
sand  Turks  were  mustered  on  the  frontiers  of  Hungary.  The  proud 
and  revengeful  spirit  of  the  Empress-Queen  at  len^h  gave  way  : 
and,  in  February,  17G3,  the  peace  of  Hubertsburg  put  an  end  to  the 
conflict  -which  had,  during  seven  years,  devastated  Germany.  The 
king  ceded  nothing.  The  whole  Continent  in  arms  had  proved  una- 
ble to  tear  Silesia  from  that  iron  grasp. 

The  war  was  over.  Frederick  was  safe.  His  glory  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  envy.  If  he  had  not  made  conquests  as  vast  as  those  of  Al- 
exander, of  Caesar,  of  Napoleon — if  he  had  not,  on  field  of  battle,  en. 
joyed  the  constant  success  of  Marlborough  and  Wellington — he  had 
yet  given  an  example  unrivalled  in  history  of  what  capacity  and  res 


58 


FEEDEEICK  THE  GEEAT. 


olution  can  effect  against  the  greatest  superiority  of  power  and  the 
utmost  spite  of  fortune.  He  entered  Berlin  in  triumph,  after  an  ah- 
sence  of  more  than  six  years.  The  streets  were  brilliantlv  lighted 
up,  and  as  he  passed  along  in  an  open  carriage,  wth  Ferdinand  of 
Brunswick  at  his  side,  the  multitude  saluted  him  with  loud  praises 
and  blessing.;.  He  was  moved  by  those  marks  of  attachment,  and  re 
peatedly  exclaimed,  “ Long  live  my  dear  people  ! Long  live  mv  chil- 
dren ! ” Yet,  even  in  the  midst  of  that  gay  spectacle,  he  could  not 
hut  perceive  everywhere  the  traces  of  destruction  and  decav.  The 
;city  had  been  more  than  once  plundered.  The  population  li'ad  con- 
siderably diminished.  Berlin,  however,  had  suffered  little  when  com- 
pared with  most  part.-i  of  the  kingdom.  The  ruin  of  private  fortunes, 
the  distress  of  all  ranks,  was  such  as  might  appal  the  firmest  niiml.' 
Almost  every  province  had  been  the  seat  of  war,  and  of  war  conducted 
with  merciless  ferocity.  Clouds  of  Croatians  had  descended  on  Si- 
lesia. Tens  of  thousands  of  Cossacks  had  been  let  loose  on  Pome- 
rania and  Brandenburg.  The  mere  contributions  levied  by  the  inva- 
ders amounted,  it  was  said,  to  more  than  a hundred  millions  of  dol- 
lars ; and  the  value  of  what  they  extorted  was  probably  much  lcs.s 
than  the  value  of  what  they  destroyed.  The  fields  lay  uncultivated. 
The  very  seed-corn  had  been  devoured  in  the  madness  of  hunger. 
Famine,  and  contagious  maladies,  the  effect  of  famine,  had  swe;)t 
away  the  herds  and  flocks  ; and  there  was  a reason  to  fear  that  a great 
pestilence  among  the  human  race  was  likely  to  follow  in  the  train  of 
that  tremendous  war.  Near  fifteen  thousand  houses  had  beenburnc-d 
to  the  ground. 

The  population  of  the  kingdom  had  in  seven  years  decreased  to  the 
frightful  extent  of  ten  per  cent.  A sixth  of  the  males  capable  of 
bearing  anus  had  actually  perished  on  the  field  of  battle.  In  some 
districts  no  laborers  except  women  were  seen  in  the  fields  at  harvest 
time.  In  othei-s,  the  traveller  passed  shuddering  through  a succession 
of  silent  villages,  in  which  not  a single  inhalfltaut  remained.  The 
currency  l;ad  been  debased  ; the  authority  of  laws  and  magi.strates 
had  been  suspended  ; the  whole  social  system  was  deranged.  For, 
during  that  convulsive  struggle,  everything  that  was  not  military  vio- 
lence was  anarchy.  Even  the  army  was  disorganized.  Some  great 
generals  and  a crowd  of  excellent  officers  had  fallen,  and  it  had  been 
impossible  to  supply  their  places.  The  difficulty  of  finding  recruits 
had,  towards  the  close  of  the  war,  been  so  great,  that  selection  anil 
rejection  were  impossible,  ^^'hole  battalions  were  composed  of  de- 
serters or  of  prisoners.  It  was  hardly  to  be  hoped  that  thirty  years 
of  repose  and  industry  would  repair  the  ruin  produced  by  seven  years 
of  havoc.  One  consolatory  circumstance,  indeed,  there  was.  No 
debt  had  been  incurred.  The  burdens  of  the  war  had  been  terrible, 
almost  insupportable  ; but  no  arrear  was  left  to  embarrass  the  finances 
in  the  time  of  peace." 

* The  reader  will  not  need  to  be  reminded  that  the  narrative  of  Macaulay  ends 


FREDEEICK  THE  GREAT. 


59 


It  remaira-i  for  us,  in  order  to  become  tlioroughly  acquainted  -with 
the  man,  to  contemplate  Frederick’s  character  in  peace. 

The  first  and  most  immediate  object  of  Fredericl^’s  attention  and 
anxiety  was  the  re-estahlislinient  of  his  army,  in  order  that  no  enemy 
might  hope  to  reap  advantage  from  a sudden  renev'al  of  hostilities. 
In  order  to  bring  the  recently  levied  troops  upon  a par  ■\\dth  his  vet- 
eran, well-trained  warriors — of  whom,  however,  but  a very  small 
number  still  remained — military  exercise  and  drilling  were  enforced 
with  the  most  rigorous  exactness.  But  the  illustrious  monarch  him 
self,  when  he  beheld  the  whole  of  Europe  adopt  his  military  tactics, 
was  dec  ived  in  the  over-estimation  of  their  value.  The  system  of 
iiiaintaining  standing  armies  was  carried  to  the  highest  point,  and  be- 
came the  principal  object  in  the  administration  of  every  State  ; grave 
utility  degenerated  into  mere  display,  until  a grand  convulsion  of  the 
world  made  its  vanity  and  puerility  but  too  apparent. 

The  care  taken  by  Frederick  to  effect  the  restoration  of  liis  over- 
whelmed country  was  a much  more  beneficent  employment  of  his 
energies,  and  was  productive  of  incalculable  good.  It  formed  the 
most  imperishable  leaf  in  his  wreath  of  glory.  The  corn  whicli  was 
already  bought  up  for  the  next  campaign  he  bestowed  upon  the  most 
destitute  of  his  people,  as  seed  for  sowing,  together  with  all  his  su- 
perfluous horses.  The  taxes  were  remitted  for  six  months  in  Silesia, 
and  for  two  years  in  Pomerania  and  Nenmark,  which  were  completely 
devastated.  Nay,  the  king,  in  order  to  encourage  agriculture  and  in 
dustry,  apjiropriated  large  sums  of  money  for  that  purpose  in  pro- 
portion to  the  greatness  of  the  exigency,  and  these  various  sums 
amounted  altogether  during  the  four-and-twenty  years  of  his  reign, 
after  the  peace  of  Hubertsburg,  to  no  less  than  twenty-four  millions 
of  dollars.  Such  noble  generosity  redounds  still  more  to  the  glory  of 
Frederick,  inasmuch  as  it  was  only  practicable  through  the  exercise  of 
great  economy,  and  to  promote  which  he  subjected  himself  to  every 
personal  sacrifice.  His  maxim  was  that  his  treasure  belonged  not  to 
liimself,  but  to  the  people  who  supplied  it ; and  while  many  other 
princes — not  bearing  in  mind  the  heavy  drops  of  sw'eat  which  ad- 
liered  to  each  of  the  numerous  gold  pieces  WTung  from  their  subjects 
— only  thought  of  dissipating  the  entire  mass  in  the  most  unlicensed 
prodigality  and  waste,  he  lived  in  a style  so  simple  and  frugal,  that 
out  of  the  sum  appropriated  to  the  maintenance  of  his  court  he  saved 
annually  nearly  a million  of  dollars. 

He  explained  on  one  occasion  to  M.  de  Launay,  the  assessor  of  in- 
direct taxes,  the  principles  by  which  he  was  actuated  in  this  respect, 
in  clear  and  distinct  terms  : “ Louis  XV.  and  I,”  he  said,  “are  born 


here.  T’.ie  descent  from  th ' sunny  nplands  of  his  style  is  sndden  and  painful,  hut 
there  is  no  help  for  it.  Herr  Kohlransch  g:oes  on  honestly  enoush,  and  we  must  let 
him  tinisn  the  story  or  go  without  it  altogether.  Patience  ; it  will  soon  be  over,  and 
as  a sugar-plum  for  good  children,  we  promise  you  near  the  close  a gorgeous  picture 
of  the  great  king  in  his  old  age,  by  Carlyle. 


60 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


more  needy  than  the  poorest  of  our  subjects  ; for  there  are  but  few 
among  tliein  who  do  not  possess  a sma.l  inheritance,  or  who  cannot  at 
least  earn  it  by  their  labor  and  industry  ; v.diile  he  and  I posse.ss  noth- 
ing, neither  can  w'o  earn  anything  but  what  must  belong  to  the  t>tate. 
We  are  merel3Mhe  rtewai-cL;;  appointed  for  the  administration  of  the 
general  fund  ; and  if,  as  such,  we  were  to  apply  to  our  own  personal 
expenditure  more  than  is  reasonablj'  necessar_v,  we  should,  b_v  such 
proceeding,  not  only  bring  down  upon  ourselves  severe  condemnation 
in  the  first  plac(i  for  extravagance,  but  likewise  for  having  fraudu- 
lently taken  possession  of  that  which  was  confided  to  our  charge  for 
the  public  weal.” 

The  particular  care  and  interest  shown  by  the  king  in  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  soil,  ]iroduced  its  speedy  improvement.  Large  tracts  of 
land  were  rendered  arable,  fresh  supplies  of  laborers  were  procured 
from  other  countries,  and  where  formerh'  marsh  and  moor  were  gen 
erally  prevalent,  fertile,  fiourishing  cornfields  were  substituted  instead. 
These  happv  results,  which  greeted  the  eye  of  Frederick  whenever  he 
took  his  regularl  v-appointed  journevs  throughout  his  dominions,  Avere 
highly  grateful  to  his  feelings  ; while  during  these  tours  of  survey 
nothing  escaped  his  acutely  observing  mind  ; so  much  so,  that  feAv 
sovereigns  could  boast  of  such  r,  thorough  knowledge  of  their  domains 
— even  to  the  most  trifling  details — as  the  King  of  Prussia  acquired  of 
liis  own  estates  t'_  ougl  "Oi.unual  and  indefatigable  application  to  this 
™ oilesia,  Avhich  had  suffered  so  much,  v.-as  especially  dear 

to  his  feelings,  and  to  that  territoiy  he  devoted  particular  attention  ; 
when,  therefore,  upon  a general  census  in  the  j-ear  17T7.  he  found 
it  contained  180,000  more  inhabitants  than  in  the  A’ear  1756,  when  the 
Avar  commenced  ; and  Avhen  he  perceiA’ed  the  losses  sustained  during 
that  war  thus  amplj’  repaired,  and  the  glorious  results  produced  La- 
agricultural  labor  and  commercial  enterprise,  he,  in  the  gladne.ss  of 
his  heart,  expressed,  in  a letter  to  his  friend  Jordim,  the  sensations 
he  felt  at  beholding  the  flourishing  state  of  a province,  the  condi- 
tion of  Avhich  Avas  but  a short  time  before  so  sadly  depressed  and 
miserable. 

Industry  is  indispensable  in  a people  who  depend  on  their  energy 
and  actiA'itj'  for  their  rank  among  nations  ; but  this  rank  is  not  the 
onl.A’  attendant  adA'antage  : a benefit  far  greater  is  the  fresh,  healthy 
vigor  it  imparts  to  the  people.  And  in  this  respect  Frederick  the 
Great  aa'us  a striking  example,  trulA’  AvortliA'  of  imitation  by  all  his 
subjects  : for  eA^en  during  the  earl  v period  of  his  life  he  already  wrote 
to  his  friend  Jordan  thus  : “ You  are  quite  right  in  belieA’ing  that  1 
work  hard  ; I do  so  to  enable  me  to  live,  for  nothing  so  nearly  ap- 
proaches the  likeness  of  death  as  the  half -slumbering,  listless  state  of 
idleness.”  And,  subsequentlv,  Avhen  he  had  become  old  and  feeble, 
this  feeling  still  retained  its  poAA-er,  and  operated  with  all  its  original 
influence  upon  his  mind,  for  in  another  letter  to  the  same  friend  he 
«ays  “ I stUl  feel  as  formerly  the  same  anxiety  for  action  ; as  then. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


G\ 

I no>  still  long  to  "work  and  be  busy,  and  my  mind  and  body  are  in 
continual  contention.  It  is  no  longer  requisite  that  I should  live,  un- 
less I can  live  and  work.” 

And  truly,  in  making  a profitable  use  of  hi.s  time,  King  Frederick 
displayed  a perseverance  which  left  him  witLckat  a rival ; and  even  in 
his  old  age  he  never  swerved  from  the  original  plan  he  had  laid  down 
and  followed  from  his  earliest  manhood,  for  yiven  on  the  very  day 
before  his  death  he  was  to  be  seen  occupied  wilh  the  business  of  his 
government.  Each  hour  had  its  occupation,  and  the  one  grand  prin- 
ciple which  is  the  soul  of  all  industry — viz.,  to  leorie  over  from  to-day 
nothing  for  the  morrow — passed  with  Frederick  as  the  inviolable  law 
of  his  whole  life.  The  entire  day — commencing  at  the  hour  of  four 
in  the  morning  and  continuing  until  midnight,  accordingly  five- 
sixths  of  the  day — was  devoted  to  some  occupation  of  the  mind  or 
heart,  for  in  order  that  even  the  hour  of  repast  might  not  be  wholly 
monopolized  by  the  mere  gratification  of  the  stomach,  Frederick 
assembled  around  him  at  midday  and  in  the  evening  a circle  Intel- 
lectual men,  and  these  conversaziones — in  whic^’  th  . js-ing  nimself  took 
an  important  share — were  of  such  an  a,A  .noed  and  enlivening  nature 
that  they  were  not  inaptly  compared  to  the  entertainments  of  Socrates 
himself.  Unfortunately,  however,  according  to  the  taste  of  that  age, 
nothing  but  witticisms  and  humorous  sallies  were  made  the  subject  of 
due  appreciation  and  applause.  Vivacity  of  idea  promptly  expressed 
and  strikingly  apropos  allusions  were  the  order  of  the  day,  while, 
profundity  of  thought  and  subjects  of  more  grave  and  serious  discus- 
sion were  banished  as  ill-timed  and  uncalled-for — a necessary  conse- 
quence arising  from  the  exclusive  adoption  of  the  French  language, 
which  formed  the  medium  of  communication  at  these  reunions  of 
Frederick  the  Great.  The  rest  of  the  day  was  passed  in  the  perusal 
of  official  dispatches,  private  correspondence,  and  ministerial  docu- 
ments, to  each  of  which  he  added  his  replies  and  observations  in  the 
margin.  After  having  gone  through  this  all-important  business 
routine  of  the  day,  he  directed  his  attention  to  the  more  recreative 
occupations  of  his  pleasure-grounds  and  literary  compositions,  of 
which  latter  Frederick  has  left  beliind  him  a rich  collection ; and 
finally,  as  a last  resource  of  amusement,  he  occasionally  devoted  a 
few  stolen  moments  to  his  flute,  upon  which  he  was  an  accomplished 
performer.  This,  his  favorite  instrument,  indeed,  like  an  intimate 
and  faithful  friend,  served  often  to  ^llay  the  violent  excitements  of 
his  spirit ; and  while  he  strolled  with  it  through  his  suite  of  rooms, 
often  for  hours  together,  his  thoughts,  as  he  himself  relates,  became 
more  and  more  collected,  and  his  mind  better  prepared  for  calm  and 
serious  meditation.  Nevertheless,  he  never  permitted  affairs  of  state 
to  be  neglected  for  the  sake  of  the  enjoyments  he  sought  both  in 
music  and  in  poetry  ; and  in  this  point  of  view  Frederick’s  character 
must  ever  command  respect  and  admiration. 

The  govemm,ent  of  Frederick  was  despotic  in  the  strictest  sense  of 


52 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


the  word  ; everything  emanated  from  the  king,  and  everything  re 
verted  to  him  again.  He  never  accorded  any  share  in  the  administra- 
tion to  an  assembly  of  States,  nor  even  to  the  State  Council,  which, 
composed  of  the  most  enlightened  men,  would  have  been  able  to  have 
presented  to  their  sovereign,  in  a clear  and  comprehensive  light,  the 
bearings  of  the  intricate  questions  connected  with  government.  He 
felt  in  himself  the  power  to  govern  alone,  seconded  by  the  strongest 
desire  of  making  his  people  happy  and  great.  Thence  it  appeared  to 
his  mind  that  the  predominant  strength  of  a State  was  based  upon  the 
means  which  are  the  readiest  and  the  most  efficacious  in  the  hands  of  one 
person,  viz.,  in  his  anny  and  in  the  treasury.  His  chief  aim,  therefore, 
was  to  manage  that  these  two  powerful  implements  of  government 
should  be  placed  in  the  most  favorable  condition  possible  ; and  thus  we 
find  Miat  Frederick  often  sought  the  means  to  obtam  this,  his  grand  ob- 
ject, without  sufficiently  taking  into  consideration  the  effect  they  might 
subsequently  produce  upon  the  disposition  and  morality  of  the  nation. 
In  ac^  '•'t<'nce  with  this  principle,  he,  in  the  year  1764,  invited  a dis- 
tinguished termio.  .g-  '-'ral  of  France,  Helvetius,  to  Berlin,  in  order  to 
consult  him  upon  the  lueu..  .7  .augmenting  the  revenues  of  the  State  ; 
and  in  consequence  of  his  suggestions,  measures  were  adopted  which 
were  extremely  obnoxious  to  the  public,  and  caused  many  to  defraud, 
instead  of  co-operating  with,  the  government.  At  the  same  time, 
liowever,  by  these  and  other  means  resorted  to  by  the  king,  the  reve 
nnes  of  the  kingdom  were  increased  considerably.  It  must,  however, 
be  advanced  in  Frederick’s  vindication,  firstly,  that  he  adopted  these 
measures,  not  for  his  own  individual  advantage,  but  for  the  benefit  of 
all  ; and  .secondly — we  must  again  repeat  it — that  the  great  errors  of 
the  age  completely  obscured  his  own  view.  lYith  what  eagerness 
would  not  his  clear  mind  have  caught  at  the  enlightenment  produced 
by  refonn,  had  he  but  lived  in  a time  when  freedom  of  thought  was 
more  appreciated — for  to  him  this  freedom  of  thought  was  so  dear 
that  he  never  attacked  the  public  expression  of  opinion.  His  subjects 
enjoyed  under  his  reign,  among  other  privileges,  that  of  the  liberty 
of  the  press  ; and  he  himself  gave  free  scope  to  the  shafts  of  censuni 
and  ridicule  aimed  against  his  public  and  private  character,  for  the 
consciousness  of  his  own  persevering  endeavors  in  the  service  of  his 
country,  and  of  his  sincere  devotion  to  his  duties,  elevated  him  beyond 
nil  petty  susceptibility.  The  chief  object  of  the  king’s  care  was  a 
search  into  truth  and  enlightenment,  as  it  was  then  understood.  But 
this  enlightenment  consisted  in  a desire  to  understand  everything  ; to 
mialyze,  dissect,  and — demolish.  Whatever  appeared  inexplicable 
was  at  once  rejected  ; faith,  love,  hope,  and  filial  respect — all  those 
feelings  which  have  their  seat  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  soul — wera 
destroyed  in  their  germination. 

But  this  annihilating  agency  was  not  confined  to  the  State  ; it  ma»- 
ifested  itself  also  in  science,  in  art,  and  even  in  religion.  The  French 
were  the  promoters  of  tkis  phenomenon,  and  in  this  they  were  evenv 


FEEDEHICK  THE  HEEAT. 


63 


aally  imitated  tEroughout  the  world,  hut  more  especially  in  Ger- 
many. Superficial  ornament  passed  for  profound  wisdom,  and  witty, 
sarcastic  phraseology  assumed  the  j^lace  of  soundness  and  sincerity  of 
expression.  Nevertheless,  even  at  this  time  there  were  a few  chosen 
men  who  were  able  to  recognize  that  which  was  true  and  just,  and 
raised  their  voices  accordingly  ; and,  in  the  world  of  intellect,  the 
names  of  Lessing,  Klopstock,  Goethe,  etc  , need  alone  be  mentioned, 
being,  as  they  were,  the  founders  of  a more  sterling  age.  They  were 
joined  by  many  others,  and,  thus  united,  they  constituted  an  intellec- 
tual phalanx  in  opposition  to  the  progress  made  by  the  sensual  French 
school.  Those  intellectual  reformers  were  soon  strengthened  b}’  such 
auxiliaries  as  Kant,  Fichte,  Jacobi,  etc.,  who  advanced  firmly  under 
the  banner  of  science  ; and  from  such  beginnings  grew,  by  degrees, 
that  powerful  mental  reaction  which  has  already  achieved  such 
mighty  things,  and  led  the  way  to  greater  results  still. 

This  awakening  of  the  Gennan  mind  was  unnoticed  by  King  Fred- 
erick ; he  lived  in  the  world  of  French  refinement,  separate  and  scdi- 
tary,  as  on  an  island.  The  waves  of  the  new,  rushing  stream  of  hfe 
passed  without  approaching  him,  and  struck  against  the  banders  by 
which  he  was  enclosed.  His  over-appreciation  and  patronage  of  for- 
eigners, however,  impelled  the  higher  classes  of  society  to  share  in 
his  sentiments,  equally  as  much  as  his  system  of  administration  had 
served  as  a model  for  other  rulers  to  imitate.  Several  among  his 
contemporaries  resolved,  like  him,  to  reign  independently,  but  with- 
out possessing  the  same  commanding  genius,  whence,  however  well- 
intentioned,  they  were  wrecked  in  their  career — among  whom  may  be 
more  especially  included  Peter  III.  of  Eussia,  Gustavus  III.  of  Swe- 
den, and  Joseph  II.  of  Germany. 

In  the  year  1765  Joseph  II.  was  acknowledged  as  successor  to  his 
father,  Francis  I. , who  died  in  the  same  year,  but  whose  acts  as  em- 
peror present  little  or  nothing  worthy  of  record.  His  son,  however, 
was  on  this  very  account  the  more  anxious  to  effect  great  changes  — 
to  transform  ancient  into  modern  institutions,  and  to  devote  the  great 
and  predominating  power  vdth  which  he  was  endowed  towards  re- 
modelhng  the  entire  condition  of  his  States.  AE  his  projects,  how- 
ever, were  held  in  abeyance  until  the  death  of  his  mother,  Maria 
Theresa,  in  1780,  who,  ever  wise  and  active,  had,  even  to  the  last 
moments  of  her  existence,  exercised  all  her  power  and  influence  in 
the  administration  of  affairs  ; and  accordingly  her  maternal  authority, 
operated  effectually  upon  his  feelings  as  a son,  and  served  for  a time 
to  suspend  the  accomplishment  of  his  desires.  Meantime,  in  the  in- 
terval between  the  years  1765  and  1780,  various  events  took  place 
which  exercised  an  important  influence  upon  the  last  ten  years  of  his 
reign.  Among  the  rest  may  be  more  especially  mentioned  the  dis- 
memberment of  Poland  in  1773,  and  the  war  of  the  Bavarian  tueces- 
Aon  in  1778. 

Augustus  III  , King  of  Poland,  died  in  the  year  1765,  leaving  be- 
A.B.— 3 . 


64 


FREDEEICK  THE  GREAT, 


liLnd  liim  a grandson,  only  as  yet  a minor  ; consequently  tlie  liouse  ol 
Saxony,  wRicli  bad  held  possession  of  the  throne  of  Poland  during  a 
space  of  sixty-six  years,  now  lost  it.  Both  Russia  and  Prussia  stepped 
forward  forthwith,  and  took  upon  themselves  the  arrangement  of  the 
afEairs  of  Poland  : an  interference  which  that  nation  was  now  unable 
to  resist,  for,  strong  and  redoubtable  as  it  had  been  formerly,  dissen- 
sion had  so  much  reduced  its  resources  that  it  was  at  this  moment 
wholly  incapable  of  maintaining  or  even  acting  for  itself.  Both 
powers  required  that  Poland  should  choose  for  her  sovereign  a native- 
born  prince,  and  an  army  of  ten  thousand  Russians  which  suddenly 
advanced  upon  ii'arsaw,  and  an  equal  number  of  Prussian  troops  as- 
sembled upon  the  frontiers,  produced  the  election  of  Stanislaus  Ponia- 
towski  to  the  throne.  Henceforth  there  was  no  longer  an  imperial 
diet  held  at  which  foreigners  did  not  endeavor  to  bring  into  effect  all 
their  influence. 

Shortly  after  this  event,  a war  took  place  between  Russia  and  Tur- 
key, in  which  the  fonner  took  possession  of  iSIoldavia  and  Walla- 
chia,  which  that  power  was  extremely  desirous  of  retaining.  This, 
however,  Austria  opposed  most  strenuously,  lest  Russia  should  be- 
come too  powerful,  and  Frederick  the  Great  found  himself  in  a 
dilemma  how  to  maintain  the  balance  between  the  two  parties.  The 
most  expedient  means  of  adjustment  appeared  in  the  end  to  be  the 
spoliation  of  a country  which  was  the  least  able  to  oppose  it  ; viz., 
Poland ; and,  accordingly,  a portion  of  its  territory  was  seized  and 
shared  between  the  three  powers — Russia,  Prussia,  and  Austria 
With  whom  this  idea  first  originated  has  not  been  clearly  ascertained, 
hut  it  is  easy  to  see  that  it  was  quite  in  accordance  with  the  character 
of  the  times.  For  as  the  wisdom  of  that  age  only  based  its  calcula- 
tions upon  the  standard  of  the  senses,  and  estimated  the  power  of 
States  merely  by  their  square  miles,  amount  of  population,  soldiers, 
and  revenue,  the  grand  aim  of  the  then  State  policy  was  to  devote 
every  effort  towards  aggrandizement ; nothing  was  held  more  desir- 
able than  some  fresh  conquest,  which  might  advantageously  round 
off  a kingdom,  while  all  consideration  of  equity  and  justice  was  forced 
to  yield  before  this  imperious  principle.  When  one  of  the  larger 
States  affected  such  an  acquisition,  the  others,  alarmed,  considered 
the  balance  of  Europe  compromised  and  endangered. 

In  this  case,  however,  the  three  kingdoms  bordering  upon  Poland.- 
having  shared  between  them  the  spoil,  were  each  augmented  in  pro- 
portion, whence  all  fear  of  danger  was  removed.  Tliis  system  had 
become  so  superficial,  so  miserable  and  absurd,  that  they  lost  sight 
altogether  of  the  principle  that  a just  equpihrium  and  the  permanent 
safety  of  all  can  only  he  secured  by  the  inviolable  preservation  of  the 
rights  of  nations.  The  partition  of  Poland  was  the  formal  renuncia- 
tion itself  of  that  system  of  equipoise,  and  served  as  the  precursor  of 
all  those  great  revolutions,  dismemberments,  and  transformations,  to- 
gether with  all  those  ambitious  attempts  at  universal  monarchy, 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


65 


0}Arra  (furing  a space  of  five-and-twenty  years,  were  tlie  means  of 
convulsmg  Europe  to  lier  very  foundations. 

Tlie  people  of  Poland,  menaced  as  they  were  in  three  quarters,  were 
forced  in  the  ,iutumn  of  1773  to  submit  to  the  dismemberment  of 
their  country,  of  which,  accordingly,  three  thousand  square  miles  were 
forthwith  divided  between  Russia,  Prussia,  and  Austria. 

Maximihan  Joseph,  elector  of  Bavaria,  having  died  in  1777  without 
issue,  the  inheritance  of  his  estates  and  electoral  dignity  came  into 
the  hands  of  the  elector  palatine.  The  emperor  Joseph,  however, 
with  his  usual  rashness,  resolved  to  avail  himself  of  this  inheritance 
in  favor  of  Austria  ; he  accordingly  raked  up  old  claims  and  marched 
suddenly  with  his  army  into  Bavaria,  of  which  he  took  immediate 
possession.  The  pacific  palatine,  Charles  Theodore,  thus  surprised 
and  overawed,  signed  a treaty  by  which  he  ceded  two-thirds  of  Bava- 
ria to  the  hou&B  of  Austria  in  order  to  secure  to  himself  possession  of 
at  least  the  oth^r  third.  The  conduct  of  Austria  on  this  occasion,  to- 
gether with  th&  part  she  had  previously  taken  in  the  dismemberment 
of  ill-fated  Poland,  was  the  more  imexpected  inasmuch  as  she  was  the 
only  one  of  all  the  superior  States  which  had  hitherto  abstained  from 
similar  acts  of  i.ggression.  But  the  mutability  of  the  age  had  now 
destroyed  likewiie  in  Austria  the  uniform  pacific  bearing  for  which 
she  had  so  long  been  distinguished. 

These  proceedings  gave  rise  to  serious  commotions  in  various  parts 
of  the  empire,  and  Frederick  the  Great  more  especially  felt  he  could 
not  and  ought  not-  to  remain  an  inactive  observer  of  what  was  pass- 
ing. Accordingly  he  entered  the  lists  against  Austria  at  once,  and 
commenced  operauons  as  protector  of  the  heir  of  Charles  Theodore, 
the  Duke  of  Deux  Pouts,  who  protested  against  the  compact  signed 
by  the  former  vdth  Austria,  and  claimed  the  assistance  of  the  King 
of  Prussia.  The  young  and  hot-headed  emperor  Joseph  accepted  the 
challenge  forthwitly,  and  taking  up  a position  in  Bohemia,  he  there 
awaited  the  king  ; the  latter,  who  had  already  crossed  the  mountains, 
finding  him,  however,  so  strongly  intrenched,  was  reluctant  to  hazard 
an  attack  under  «uch  difficult  circumstances,  and  withdrew  from 
Bohemia.  After  a few  unimportant  skiraiishes  between  the  light 
troops  of  both  sid<ss,  peace  was  signed  by  the  mediation  of  France  and 
Russia,  at  Teschen,  on  the  13th  of  May,  1779,  even  before  the  end  of 
the  first  year  of  the  war.  The  empress  Maria  Theresa,  now  advanced 
in  y^ears,  by  no  nwans  shared  in  her  son’s  taste  for  war,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  earnestly  desired  peace  ; while  Frederick  himself,  who  had 
nothing  to  gain  personally  by  this  campaign,  was  equally  anxious  for 
a reconciliation.  Moreover,’  he  was  likewise  far  advanced  in  y’ears, 
and  possessed  an  eye  sufficiently  penetrating  to  perceive  that  the 
former  original  ypirit  and  energy  of  the  army,  which  had  performed 
such  prodigies  of  valor  in  the  war  of  Seven  Years,  had  now  almost 
disappeared,  although  the  discipline  rmder  which  it  was  still  placed 
was  equally  severe  and  tyrannical  as  in  former  times.  Under  these 


60 


FREDEBICK  THE  GREAT. 


and  otlier  circumstances,  therefore,  peace  was  preferable  to  war.  By 
the  treaty  now  concluded,  Austria  restored  to  the  palatine  house  all 
the  estates  of  Bavaria,  except  the  circle  of  Burgau,  and  the  succes- 
sion was  secured  to  the  Duke  of  Deux-Ponts. 

After  the  death  of  Maria  Theresa,  in  1780,  Joseph  II.  strove  with 
all  the  impetuosity  of  his  fiery  and  enterprisng  nature,  to  bring  into 
immediate  execution  the  great  and  ambitious  plans  he  had  formed, 
and  to  give  to  the  various  nations  spread  over  the  boundless  surface 
•af  his  vast  possessions,  one  unique  and  equal  form  of  government, 
after  a model  such  as  he  had  himself  formed  within  his  own  mind. 

Joseph  adopted  as  his  model  the  absolute  principles  of  Frederick  in 
his  system  of  government  ; but  Frederick  occupied  himself  more  with 
external  arrangements,  with  the  administration  of  the  State,  the  pro- 
motion of  industry,  and  the  increase  of  the  revenue,  interfering  very 
little  with  the  progress  of  intellectual  culture,  which  followed  its  par- 
ticular course,  often  altogether  without  his  knowledge;  while  in  this 
respect  Joseph,  by  his  new  measures,  often  encroached  upon  the 
dearest  privileges  of  his  subjects.  He  insisted  certainly  upon  hberty 
of  conscience  and  freedom  of  thought ; but  he  did  not  bear  in  mind, 
at  the  same  time,  that  the  acknowledgment  of  this  principle  depended 
upon  that  close  conviction  which  cannot  be  forced,  and  can  only  exist 
in  reality  when  the  light  of  truth  has  gradually  penetrated  to  the 
depth  of  the  heart. 

The  greatest  obstacles,  however,  thrown  in  the  way  of  Joseph’s  in- 
.jovations  proceeded  from  the  church  ; for  his  grand  object  was  to 
confiscate  numerous  monasteries  and  spiritual  institutions,  and  to 
change  at  once  the  whole  ecclesiastical  constitution  ; that  is,  he  con- 
templated obtaining  during  the  first  year  of  his  reign,  what  would  of 
itself  have  occurred  in  the  space  of  half  a century. 

By  this  confiscation  of  ecclesiastical  possessions  more  than  one 
Neighboring  prince  of  the  empire,  such  as  the  bishop  of  Passau  and 
the  archbishop  of  Salzburg,  found  themselves  attack^  in  their  rights, 
t»nd  did  not  hesitate  to  complain  loudly  ; and  in  the  same  way  in  other 
matters,  various  other  prmccs  found  too  much  reason  to  condemn  the 
emperor  for  treating  with  contempt  the  constitution  of  the  empire. 
Their  apprehensions  were  more  especially  increased  when  the  em- 
peror, in  the  year  1785,  negotiated  a treaty  of  exchange  of  territory 
with  the  electoral  prince-palatine  of  Bavaria,  according  to  which  the 
latter  was  to  resign  his  country  to  Austria,  for  which  he  was  to  re- 
ceive in  return  the  Austrian  Netherlands  under  the  title  of  a new 
kingdom  of  Burgundy  : an  arrangement  by  which  the  entire  south  of 
G ermany  would  have  come  into  the  exclusive  possession  of  Austria. 
U'Jie  prince-palatine  was  not  at  aU  indisposed  to  make  the  exchange, 
ikud  France  as  well  as  Russia  at  fiist  favored  it  in  its  principle ; but 
Frederick  II.  once  more  stepped  forward  and  disconcerted  their  plans, 
In  which  he  succeeded  liketvise  in  bringing  Russia  to  co-operate  with 
him. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


67 


The  Cl  immotions,  however,  produced  l)y  the.se  efforts  made  hy 
Joseph  to  bring  his  rash  projects  into  immediate  operation,  caused 
the  old  King  of  Prussia  to  form  tlie  idea  of  establishing  an  alliance  of 
the  German  princes  for  the  preservation  of  the  imperial  constitution, 
similar  in  character  to  the  unions  formed  in  previous  times  for  mutual 
defence.  Such  at  least  was  to  be  the  unique  object  of  this  alliance 
according  to  the  Icing’s  own  words  ; and  this  league  was  accordingly 
effected  in  the  year  1785,  between  Prussia,  Saxony,  Hanover,  the 
Dukes  of  Saxony,  Brunswick,.  Mecklenburg,  and  Deux-Ponts,  the 
Landgrave  of  Hesse,  and  several  other  princes,  who  were  soon  joined 
by  the  Elector  of  Mentz.  This  alliance  was  based  upon  principles  in 
their  nature  less  inimical  than  strictly  surveillant  ; nevertheless,  it 
effected  the  object  contemplated  by  acting  as  a check  upon  the  house 
of  Austria  in  the  various  innovations  threatened  by  the  emperor, 
while  it  operated  as  a lesson  indicating  to  that  house  that  its  real  dis 
tinction  among  the  other  nations  of  Europe  was  to  preserve  the  pre- 
sent order  of  things,  to  protect  all  rights  and  privileges,  to  oppose  the 
spirit  of  conquest,  and  thus  to  constitute  itself  the  bulwark  of  uni- 
versal liberty  ; but  failing  in  all  this,  it  must  inevitably  lose  at  once 
all  public  confidence.  This  alliance  of  princes,  however,  produced 
little  or  no  important  results  for  the  advantage  of  Germany,  owing 
partly  to  the  death  of  Frederick  II. , which  took  place  in  the  following 
year,  and  partly  to  the  circumstances  of  the  successors  of  Joseph  II. 
happily  returning  to  the  ancient  hereditary  principles  of  the  house, 
both,  in  its  moderation  and  circumspection  ; and  finally,  owing  to  the 
unheard  of  events  which  transpired  in  Europe  during  the  last  ten 
years  of  this  century,  and  which  soon  produced  too  much  cause  for 
forgetting  all  previous  minor  grievances. 

This  alliance  of  the  princes  of  the  empire  was  the  last  public  act  of 
the  great  Frederick  of  any  consequence  ; and  he  died  in  the  following 
year.  He  continued  active  and  full  of  enterprise  to  the  last,  in  spite 
of  his  advanced  age,  but  his  condition  became  gradually  more  isolated, 
inasmuch  as  all  the  companions  of  his  former  days  had  in  turns  dis- 
appeared and  sunk  into  their  last  resting-place  before  himself,  the 
last  among  them  being  the  brave  old  warrior,  Zietlien,  who  died  in 
the  January  previous  to  the  same  year  as  his  royal  master,  at  the  age 
of  eighty-seven  ; and,  on  the  other  hand,  heaven  had  not  blessed  him 
with  any  family,  and  thus  he  was  debarred  from  the  endearing  enjoy- 
ment experienced  by  a father,  when  he  sees  himself  growing  young 
again,  and  revivified  in  his  posterity.  At  the  same  time,  he  was 
wanting  in  all  those  feelings  conducive  to  tliis  state  of  life — a state 
against  which  his  whole  nature  recoiled.* 


* “ About  fourscore  years  ago,  there  used  to  be  seen  sauntering  on  the  terraces  of 
Sans  Souci,  for  a short  time  in  the  afternoon,  or  you  might  have  met  him  elsewhere 
at  an  earlier  hour,  riding  or  driving  in  a rapid,  business  manner  on  the  open  roads 
or  through  the  scraggy  woods  and  avenues  of  that  intricate,  amphibious  Potsdam 
region,  a highly  interesting,  lean,  little  old  man,  of  alert  though  slightly  stooping 


FREDERICK  T..E  GREAT. 


«8 


His  niiifd  with  scarcely  any  interruption,  retained  all  its  power 
during  the  long  space  of  seventy-four  years,  althongli  his  body  liad 
latterly  become  much  reduced  and  enfeelsled.  Through  the  extrava- 
gant use  he  had  always  made  of  strong  spices  and  French  dislies,  he 
dr.ed  up  the  springs  of  life,  and  after  suffering  severely  fromdrop.sy, 
he  departed  this  life  on  tlie  17th  of  August,  1780,  and  was  buried  in 
Potsdam,  under  the  pulpit  of  the  church  belonging  to  the  garrison. 

In  his  last  illnes.s  Ihederick  displayed  great  mildness  and  patience,- 
and  acknowledged  with  gratitude  the  trouble  and  pain  he  caused 
those  around  him.  During  one  of  his  sleepless  nights  he  called  to- 
the  page  who  kept  watch  in  the  room,  and  asked  him  what  o’clock  it 
was.  The  man  replied  it  had  just  struck  two.  “ Ah,  then  it  is  still 
too  soon  !”  exclaimed  the  king,  “hut  I cannot  sleep.  See  whether 


figure;  whose  name  among  strangers  was  King  Frvdrichthe  Second,  or  Frederick 
the  Great  of  Prussia,  and  at  home  among  the  common  people,  who  much  loved  and 
esteemed  him,  was  Vater  Father  Fred— a name  of  familiarity  which  had  not 

bred  contempt  in  that  instance.  He  ie  a king  every  inch  of  him,  though  without 
the  trappings  of  a king.  Presents  himself  in  a Spartan  simplicity  of  vesture  ; no 
crown  but  an  old  military  cocked-hat— generally  old,  or  trampled  and  kneaded  into 
absolute  softem  if  new— no  sceptre  hut  one  liic  Agamemnon’s,  a walking-stick 
cut  from  tiie  woods,  whioh  serves  also  as  a nding-stick  (with  which  he  hits  the  horse 
‘between  the  ears,’  say  authors);  and  for  royal  robes,  a mere  soldier’s  blue 
coat  with  red  facings,  coat  likely  to  he  old,  and  sure  to  have  a good  deal  of  Spanish 
snuff  on  the  breast  of  it  ; rest  of  the  apparel  cL'm,  unobtrusive  in  color  or  cut.  end- 
ing in  high,  over-knee,,military  boots,  which  may  be  brnshe  ' (and,  I hope,  kept 
soft  with  an  underhand  suspicion  of  oil),  bnt  are  not  pennitted  to  be  blackened  or 
varnished  ; Day  and  Martin  with  tiieir  soot-pots  forbidden  to  approach. 

“ The  man  is  not  of  godlike  physiognomy,  any  more  than  of  imposing  stature  or 
costume : close-shut  mouth  with  thiu  lips,  prominent  jaws  and  nose,  receding 
brow,  by  no  means  of  Olympian  height;  h.ead,  however,  is  of  long  fonn,  and  has 
superlative  gray  eyes  iu  it.  Not  what  is  called  a beautiful  man  ; nor  yet,  by  all  ap- 
pearance, what  is  called  a happy.  On  the  contrary,  the  face  hears  eridence  of  many 
sorrows,  as  they  are  termed,  of  much  hard  labor  done  in  this  world  ; and  seems  to 
anticipate  nothing  hut  more  still  coming.  Quiet  stoicism,  capable  enough  of  what 
joy  there  were,  but  not  expecting  any  worth  mention  ; great  unconscious  and  some 
conscious  i)ride,  well  tempered  \rith  a cheery  mockery  of  humor — are  written  on 
tliat  old  face ; which  carries  its  chin  well  forward,  in  spite  of  the  slight  stoop 
about  the  neck  ; snufiy  nose  rather  flung  into  the  air.  under  its  old  cocked-hat — 
like  an  old  snuffy  lion  on  the  watch  ; and  such  a pair  of  eyes  as  no  man  or  lion  or 
lynx  of  that  century  bore  elsewhere,  according  to  all  the  testimony  we  have.  ‘ Those 
eves,  says  Miraheau  ‘which,  at  the  bidding  of  his  great  soul,  fascinated  you  with  se- 
duction orwith  terxox (portaient,av  gridemn  ame  ?ieroique,la  seduction  on  la  t^r- 
rcur).  Most  excellent,  potent,  brilliant  eyes,  swift-darting  as  the  star.s,  steadfast  as 
the  sun  ; gray,  we  said,  of  the  azure-gray  color;  large  enough,  not  of  glaring  size,  the 
habitual  expression  of  them  vigilance  and  penetrating  sense,  rapidity  resting  on 
depth.  Which  is  an  excellent  combination  ; : nd  gives  us  the  notion  of  a lambent 
outer  mdiance  springingfrom  some  great  i.iiier  sea  of  light  and  fire  in  the  man.  The 
voice,  if  he  speak  to  you,  is  of  similar  physiognomy;  clear,  melodious,  and  sonorous; 
all  tones  are  in  it,  f.oni  that  of  the  ingenuous  inquiry,  graceful  sociality,  light-flow- 
ing banter  (rather  prickly  for  most  part),  up  to  definite  word  of  command,  up  to 
desolating  word  of  rebuke  and  reprobation  ; a voice  ‘ the  clearest  and  most  agree- 
able in  conversation  I ever  heard,’  says  witty  Dr.  Moore.  ‘ He  speaks  a great  deal.’ 
continues  the  doctor,  ‘yet  those  who  hear  him  regret  that  he  does  not  speaks 
great  deal  more.  11  s observations  are  always  lively,  very  often  just ; and  few  men 
possess  the  taleut  of  repartee  iu  greater  perfection.’  ” 


FEEDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


69 


any  of  tlie  other  attendants  are  awake,  but  do  not  disturb  them  if 
they  are  still  sleeping,  for,  poor  fellows,  they  are  tired  enough.  But 
if  you  find  Neuman  (bis  favorite  yager)  stirring,  say  to  him  you  be- 
beve  the  king  wishes  soon  to  rise.  But  mind,  do  not  awaken  any 
one  ! ” 

Although  the  news  of  Frederick’s  death  at  such  an  advanced  age 
excited  no  very  great  astonishment,  it  nevertheless  produced  a consid- 
erable sensation  throughout  the  whole  of  Europe.  He  left  to  his  suc- 
cessor a well-regulated  State,  containing  a population  of  six  millions 
of  inhabitants  ; a powerful,  strictly  organized  army,  and  a treasury 
well  provided  ; the  greatest  treasure,  however,  he  left,  was  the  recol 
lection  of  his  heroic  and  glorious  acts,  which  h»  subsequent  times  has 
continued  to  operate  upon  his  nation  with  all  its  awakening  power 
and  heart-stirring  influence. 


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